Fuel and Fire
by ViolateThisNobleWar
Summary: 'You want me to take a bath with you? To get naked with you, cuddle you, sleep in your bed tonight, only to have you kick me out in the morning and pretend like it never happened' Katniss never intended for Peeta to come back to her. But old flames can't be extinguished so easily. Post Mockingjay, pre epilogue. Rated M for explicit content a few chapters in.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! This is my version of a Katniss and Peeta ''growing back together'' fic. I'm not sure if there's still much interest in these kinds of stories as I know the Hunger Games fad has come and gone (just reread the whole series from start to finish for the 12** **th** **time so I'm right back on that train) so just depends on how much interest this generates as to weather or not I will continue. Let me know if you want to see more!**

It's less than a week after his return to District 12 that Peeta spends the night at my house.

We didn't intend for it to happen that fast. Since that morning I stumbled out into the thick of the Winter morning to find him moving ploughing into the Earth with his shovel, planting Primroses in the soil, we've barley spoken. We share a polite but somewhat curt smile when we happen to step out on to our front porches at the same time, we time our visits to Haymitch's house to make sure he hasn't choked on to death on his own vomit so that we're never there at the same time. It's not that we don't have anything to say to each other. It's that we have such an enormity of things to say to each other that the thought of even starting a conversation seems like a mammoth task, something I don't have the energy for. I've never been good with words as it is. Peeta used to, but these days anything so emotionally charged would surely be a drainage for him too.

So he bakes. I hunt. Haymitch drinks. Nobody talks.

Tonight, it rains for the first time since I returned to District Twelve. It starts as a patter against my the sheath of my window pane. I roll out of bed, placing my feet against the tiles as gently as possible. This house is so large, and living alone, every little noise sounds like a grenade going off. Like an impossibly loud explosion, one that would erupt in flames, flames that would scar skin and gnaw at flesh, that would take the lives of innocent little sisters…

I walk over and shut my window all the way.

As I curl back up in bed, pretending not to notice Buttercup has situated himself on the edge of my blankets, I try not to think about Peeta. Has he closed his window against the weather as well? Or is sleeping with closed windows so unnatural to him that he let's the rain fall on his open window sill?

There's a growl of thunder and the rain becomes heavier. I clutch the blanket between my fingers tighter, trying to stem the trembling that has begun there.

 _No lightning. Please, please, no lighting._

Lightning isn't the only terrifying aspects of a storm, obviously. Rain itself reminds me of curling up against Peeta in the cave as the water seeped through the cracks of the roof, listening to his ragged breathing, his cut leg pulsating and morphing to shades of purple. But those memories I can manage alone. Lighting I can't. Cracks of lightning, like the brilliant light that shot through the tree in the Quarter Quell arena, striking midnight, the moment I lost him.

I will myself not too glance at the clock on my beside table, but I do. It's a few minutes past midnight as the storm continues to howl, picking up aggression. I burry my head deep in the pillows, trying to conjure up the feeling of his arms protectively hunched around me as a substitute for the real thing.

At four minutes past midnight, the sky screams and lighting rips through the grey clouds.

My heart throws itself against my chest and I'm out of bed in an instant. My whole body shakes with such violence that I struggle to find my way down the stairs, and I think I trip down the last few, but I'm not entirely sure. My mind has hazed over with terror and before I even know what I'm doing I'm outside. It's hear, standing in the lane of Victors Village as the dirt road turns to mush under my feet, that I finally catch up to myself. The rain soaks through my nightgown, glues my loose hair against my face, drenches the blanket I didn't realise I'd dragged out with me. I want desperately to be out of the rain but I can't think clearly enough to work out how I do that. All my foggy brain will come up with is curling up in the mud and pulling my saturated blanket over the top of me, and so that's what I do.

I don't know how long I stay there – ten minutes, fifteen minutes, maybe an hour – before the blanket is pulled from the top of me. My breath hitches in my throat and I squint to look up in the torrent of rainfall to see him.

Peeta's blonde hair has turned to a mousey brown in the wet, stuck tightly to the edges of his forehead. His shirtless, in nothing but his pyjama pants, and rain runs off his shoulders and down the scars on his chest.

''Katniss? What are you doing out here?''

I don't know how to answer, mainly because I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing out here.

''The… lightning..'' Water dribbles from my mouth as I talk.

Peeta's eyebrows, creased in confusion, soften at my words. He understands.

I worry about what his next move will be. Will seeing me break down so horrendously provoke him into a flashback? Have I just triggered horrible memories from the Quell, memories that may have been tampered with? What if he thinks I was out roaming in the storm with plans to hurt him, like the Mutt he was trained to believe I am?

None of these things happen. Without saying a single word, Peeta bends down and scoops me up, wet blanket and all, and carries me in his arms back towards my house.

''You need a warm bath.'' He says, then daring a small smile, adds ''and a new blanket.''

The laugh that comes from my mouth feels unnatural. My lips harden immediately after, and my whole body seems unsure of how to take the sensation of laughter. It feels foreign, like it's a sound I shouldn't be capable of making.

He carries me up the stairs and back through my bedroom door, into my bathroom. He sits me down on the closed toilet lid as he begins to run a bath, and I find myself shaking from the cold.

I watch him as he watches the water filling the tub, starring at it with such intensity, like it might immediately overflow and flood the whole house if he were too look away for even a millisecond. It occurs to me that he's trying not too look at me. Even though I know I'm being irritational, it hurts.

 _You're not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty?_

The words return to me at moments like this, to pour salt through my wounds. The old Peeta, so blinded by devotion, would have found me beautiful even in moments like this. Even though I'm a fire-mutt, with pink graphed flesh and hideous scars, even though I'm soaked to the core and covered in mud, even though I'm a mess of rain and tears. The Peeta who's had that admiration stripped from him can now see me much more clearly, and in moments like these, I'm so repulsive that he can't even look at me.

''I miss you thinking I'm pretty.''

The words blurt from my mouth before I can think better of it. I slam a palm of my mouth, feeling my cheeks burn. Does my selfishness know no end? Is there no limit to how shallow I can get? He's been tortured, he's lost his whole family, sometimes he can't even tell the difference between reality and fiction, and my biggest concern is that he doesn't look at me like the stars in my eyes anymore.

Peeta doesn't look up from the bath, but he curtly raises a blonde eyebrow. After a few seconds of silence, he laughs to himself.

''I know you think the Capitol tore me to shreds.'' He murmurs. ''But there were certain things they couldn't take away completely. They could make me remember you differently, but they couldn't change the thoughts I had about other parts of you, like…'' He trails off, trying to find the right words. ''You've always been the most beautiful girl I've ever set eyes on. You must know that.''

I swallow hard, unsure how to take the revelation.

''But when I went to see you in Thirteen, you said-''

''I know what I said.'' He snaps. Exhaling heavily, he loses the edge to his voice. ''And I'll never forgive myself for it.''

A lump jumps to the forefront of my throat at his words. I want to beg him not to be so harsh on himself. I want to remind him of all the times I let him down, took advantage of him, broke his heart and still expected it to hand it to me on a silver platter. I want to ask him if we can just take ourselves and one another for what we are, and stop avoiding each other because of all the things we haven't talked about. I want to ask if we can just not talk about them ever and just focus on getting each other through each day, each minute.

But I don't know how to say any of that. All that I can come up with it ''please do.''

He manages a meek smile.

I should definitely stop talking now, and yet I can't.

''So why won't you look at me?'' I persist. ''If you still think I'm beautiful, why can't you even look at me?''

Now it's Peeta's turn to look flustered. His face flushes, his cheeks gaining a rosy complexion.

''I don't want to make you uncomfortable.'' He turns off the taps, hard, as the tub reaches it's filling point. ''But to be honest with you, Katniss, you're soaking wet. If I look, I might not be able to stop starring.''

At first, I don't understand what he's talking about. Then I remember the way the boys used to snicker and whisper things to one another when girls would rush into class late on rainy days, their t-shirts slick with water. I never understood why that created so much of a buzz, until I learnt about how boys find it appealing when clothes cling ruthlessly to girls bodies, when breasts are prominent and nipples are visible.

My blush far surpasses Peeta's. I wonder if he means that, or if it's just an excuse to not have to look at me. I'm still trying to work out if I believe he still thinks I'm beautiful, but surely, he can't still be _that_ attracted to me, right?

''I leave you alone, then.'' He mutters, heading out of the bathroom. ''Try to stay safe. I'll see you tomorrow.''

''Peeta.'' My name catches him just as he reaches the bathroom door. ''Don't go.''

I scan him up and down, noting how the rain on his bare chest has seeped away, but his dark grey pants are still heavy with water. ''You're cold and wet too. You should have a bath with me?''

Peeta turns to be slowly, wide eyed and stunned, unable to believe I just suggested with get in the bath together. My jaw hangs a little unhinged, because I can't believe I just suggested that either.

Peeta can only numbly shake his head. ''I really shouldn't.'' He says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. ''I don't think I could handle being in the bath with you, if I'm bluntly honest. It would be… too much.''

''Too much how?'' I push. I don't know why I can't just let anything go tonight. Maybe because this is the most Peeta and I have connected since the war ended and I'm not ready for him to shut me off again.

''We don't even kiss anymore.'' Peeta mumbles, pressing his forehead against the doorframe and gently closing his eyes, like this is all giving him a headache. ''You don't understand, Katniss. You never did.''

''Then explain it to me!'' I stand up urgently. ''Whatever it is I don't understand.''

''I can't.'' He shakes his head against the doorframe. ''I can't explain what it's like to feel unrequited love for one person for your whole god damn life. To survive trauma and escape death with her and still not have her love you back. To be willing to give your life for her in a second, to want to be with her every second of the day, to get dizzy from the smell of her hair or the milky shade of her eyes, and know that she'll never feel that way about you. To be endure torture meant to make you hate her and still not be able to forget how much you love her. To have her kiss you and cuddle you and sleep in your bed but then shut you out emotionally. It's like waving a bone in front of a hungry dog but always yanking it just out of his reach before he can sink his teeth in. And now you want me to take a bath with you? You want me to get naked with you, to cuddle up with you in a bath, to sleep in your bed with you tonight, and then you'll send me home in the morning and you'll act like nothing happen?''

I'm on the verge of tears. His words hit me so hard, because they're so true. It's painful, to have the way I've taken advantage of Peeta and the steadiness that he has ben in my life for the past two years, while draining him of everything he has to offer, laid so cruelly in front of me. What can I say in response? There's nothing to say.

Nothing except one thing.

''Stay with me.'' I whisper, letting the stray tears go. ''Don't make me do the storm alone.''

Pain creases across his face. He takes a few deep breathes, then gently opens his eyes.

''You take a bath. I'll find a towel and dry off. I'll sleep in the guest bedroom tonight.''

Then he's gone, and I'm alone in the bathroom.

 **What do you guys think? Let me know if you'd like to see more!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks so much for the positive comments guys! So relieved to know people are still interested in reading these kinds of stories, so here's chapter number two!**

Chapter Two

The early morning sun struggles through the thick haze of grey the storm has brought out. The rain has thankfully stopped, but it's evidence is clear in the remnants of water that cling to the window pane, in the slosh of mud outside and the grey fog that lingers in the air.

Lightning last night, fog tonight. The weather is mocking me.

I drag myself out of bed, blinking hard to try and ease some of the grogginess from lack of sleep. Exhaustion is a permanent part of my existence now, and I've given up trying to fight it.

It's just after seven and Greasy Sae will be here with her granddaughter any minute. I usually enjoy their company, or if not enjoy it, at least feel content with the ease of loneliness. This morning, though, I intend to politely decline her offer of making me breakfast. I need to talk to Peeta, asleep in my guest room, and I want to do it without company downstairs.

I dress quickly, making an even greater effort than usual to avoid my reflection in the mirror. This morning, my scars, my skin grafts, my mutilated flesh, are especially repulsive. I cannot believe I asked Peeta to get in the bath with me last night, knowing that meant all me would be laid bare in front of him. In the chaos of the storm, it seemed like something that could ease the tension, but in the light of day, it seems absurd.

I braid my hair as I make my way down the hall to the guest room, with the door firmly closed. My cheeks flush with the thought of having to apologise for my behaviour. Words have never been my strong point, even when he was level-headed and strong, wise enough to read between the lines of my stutter and miscommunication. Now, I have the added challenged of dealing with a hijacked Peeta, who may not be as understanding when I inevitably say the wrong thing.

I open the door slowly, cautiously, not wanting to startle him awake. To my surprise, he isn't sleeping. His sitting on the sill of the window, his forehead and nose pushed flat the glass like a kid with their face to the window of a toy store. He's still and motionless, still dressed in nothing but the tracksuit pants from last night. From where I'm standing, I can see all the muscles in his back have tensed into tightly woven knots, and I have an unexplainable urge to massage him until they all relax.

''Peeta?'' I whisper.

He doesn't move, but his shoulder hitch ever so slightly, indicating that he heard me.

''Peeta?'' I try again, daring to move into the room. ''Are you… are you okay?''

''It's foggy outside.'' He says flatly, monotoned.

''Well… yes.''

I come over to sit next to him on the window sill, though I take care to perch on the very edge, keeping a noticeable distance between us.

''The scars on your shoulder.'' He says, and I flinch involuntarily. He doesn't move his eyes in the slightest, still keeping his gaze intently locked on the outside mist, but I find myself loosening my braid so that my hair hangs over the pink fleshly skin graft on my left shoulder. My skin burns at the realisation that Peeta has noticed it so many times he knows it's there without even looking. ''You got that because we were caught in acidic fog in the games. It changed the colour of the skin there. Real or not real?"'

I sigh, realising Peeta has merged multiple events together in his head, and I'll now be expected to pick them apart for him. It is way to early to be divulging into this.

''Not real.'' I utter, wondering if I can just leave it there. Peeta eyes still don't move, but I see the lines of his face crumple in confusion, in frustration for getting it wrong again, and I know I have to explain. I owe him that much.

''We were caught in acidic fog.'' I say. ''In the 75th games. And it did change the colour of our skin. It made it a slimy greenish-brown colour, and caused us to break out in painful hives. But that was only temporary. Once we washed all the fog out of our wounds, our skin returned to normal in a few days. The skin of my shoulder is pink because it's not my skin. It's a graft, because the skin on my shoulder was burned off in the explosion in the Capitol.''

It's all I can hope for that he knows which explosion I'm talking about. He was there, after all. I can't clarify any further, I can't go into specifics, I can't say _the explosion Coin used to win the war, even though it meant killing innocent children, like my sister._ Peeta gives a feeble nod, telling me he understands, and I exhale audibly in relief.

There's a knock on the door, and I groan. For the first time since I've entered the room, Peeta drops his gaze, down to my front doorstep.

''Greasy Sae's here.'' He says. ''You want me to leave now?''

I can hear the defeat in his tone, and his words last night replay in my head.

 _''_ _Then you'll kick me out in the morning and pretend like it never happened?''_

I had done that, so many times - used Peeta during the dark hours to hold my sanity together and held him at arms length during the daylight. The old Peeta, the Peeta so blind to all my faults, could forgive me for that, again and again. The old Peeta, _my_ Peeta, is still reachable, this I know, but he may never be that willing to be used and abused again. If I have any hope of bringing my Peeta back, I can't do that anymore.

''I don't.'' I say firmly. ''Greasy Sae brings food and makes breakfast for me. I'm just going to tell her I don't need her to cook for me this morning. It's not a good morning for it.''

''Because I'm here.'' He murmurs.

''Yes, actually.'' I'm beginning to become a bit irritated. ''And I'm not embarrassed about that. But I think…I think we could do without the extra company.'' I finally settle on.

Peeta shrugs his agreeance. He's gone back to staring vaguely out the window. He reminds me of Annie, and the way she would find an imaginary point in the distance and stare at it with such captivation that you'd often find yourself trying to figure out what exactly she was seeing. I wonder how long he'd been sitting there before I came in.

My discussion with Greasy Sae is quick and curt. Her granddaughter bounds around her feet, like an energetic puppy, as we talk.

''I always appreciate you coming.'' I say with all the sincerity I can muster, as I take the bag of groceries from her. ''But it's not a good morning.''

''Bad night?'' She cocks her head.

''Suppose you could say that.'' I force a half-smile.

''All the more reason you shouldn't be alone.'' She makes a move to step into the house. I shift my posture so she can't.

''Actually, Sae, I'm… I'm not.'' I sigh. She looks perplexed. ''Peeta's here.''

Then I add very quickly ''he slept in the guest room'', though I don't know why I find it so important to clarify that.

Greasy Sae looks as though there are a million other things she wants to ask. Confusion and uncertainty creep across her face, then she settles into acceptance.

''Very well, then. You know where to find me if you need me, love.''

''Yes, thank you.'' I say, and I mean it.

After I shut the door, I bound back up the stairs and into the guest room. Peeta still hasn't moved.

''Did you sleep like that?'' I find myself asking. He's in such a daze that he jumps at my voice, having not heard me enter. Hunter's feet, I guess.

''With my head against the glass?'' The slightest inch of sarcasm dares to enter his voice.

''With the window closed.'' I clarify.

''Why wouldn't I?''

''Because.'' I say, returning to my perch on the sill. ''You like the windows open.''

It takes Peeta a few minutes, but he slowly peels himself off the window and finally looks at me.

''Right.'' He nods. ''You, you told me that. At the camp base, in the Capitol.''

''Yes.''

''I can't imagine that.'' He pulls his arms tight around his bare chest. ''I don't think I'd feel safe with the windows open.''

I wonder if perhaps that part of Peeta really has changed. If his torture means he no longer can sleep in such a vulnerable way. I'd never sleep with the windows open, for the same reason.

''Just try it tonight.'' I insist. ''You might sleep better.''

Peeta gives a half-hearted nod. ''Okay, thanks.'' He says it in a way that makes me think he's not really going to but doesn't want to argue.

''Peeta, I'm… I'm really sorry about last night.'' I sigh. ''I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Thank you, for, looking after me.''

Peeta gives me a hint of a smile.

''No worries.'' He nods. ''You and I always look after each other. Real or not real?''

I return his smile. ''Real. Always.''

''I didn't meant to be rude.'' He sighs. ''I really didn't. I wanted to have a bath with you, more than anything, but I-''

''You don't have to explain yourself.'' I shake my head quickly.

''I want to, though.'' He presses. ''I'm just… these days it's even harder to control my emotions than it used to be. It's like, I feel everything or nothing at all. I can either feel numb and drained and not care about anything or I can feel blinding white rage or horrible sorrow or deeply, passionate…'' His colours gain a crimson complexion as he sheepishly looks away. ''… you know, like really passionate… attraction, I guess. There's nothing in between. Ever. I wouldn't ever want to push you into anything you don't want to do, so I have to keep myself in line as much as possible. Being naked with you would have made that really hard. Does that… does that make sense?''

The corners of my eyes prick and the lump in my throat swells. After everything, Peeta is still trying to protect me. Denying himself to keep me safe, putting the things I need above the things I want. He has always known the difference, even when I haven't.

''It does.'' I nod. ''And I'm sorry I even bought it up. It was inappropriate.''

''Maybe not.'' Peeta shrugs. ''We're not exactly strangers, are we?"

I grin. ''Guess not.''

Peeta purses his lips, and his face betrays that there's something he wants to ask, before he can shake the thought away.

''What?'' I scoot a little closer. ''Ask me, Peeta, it's okay.''

''Have we…. Have we ever… I mean… have we… you know…'' He clears his throat, hard, and fans his face slightly to alleviate the furious red burn there.

''Are you asking me if we've had sex?'' I try to keep my own blushing under control. Peeta doesn't make eye contact, but nods. ''No. Never.''

He swallows hard.

''Have we ever… seen each other?''

''Naked?'' I raise my eyebrow, and again, he nods.

''No. Never.'' I repeat. Then, to lighten the mood, I add ''I had the chance to see you, once, but the mood wasn't quite right.''

He chuckles in response, and I know he remembers the time I refused to look at him in the arena, which feels like a victory.

''I'm glad.'' He looks very relieved, and I can't help but feel a little offended. Clearly, it shows on my face, because he quickly rectifies. ''No, I don't mean it like that, I just mean… I have no recollection of having ever seen you without clothes on. I didn't know if that was because the Capitol erased it or because it never happened. I'm really glad it's the latter. I'd be shattered if they took that from me.''

I'm at total mercy my red cheeks now, but yet, I still can't help but smile.

''Thank you for talking to me.'' Peeta looks genuinely grateful. ''I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable.''

''Don't be.'' I say. He did make me a little uncomfortable, but for such a deeply private person, that just comes with the territory. It's not the bad kind of uncomfortable, just the kind that comes with venturing into conversations untouched before. ''You can always talk to me, whenever you need to. Thank you, for trusting me enough to tell me those things.''

''Do you have a plan for breakfast?'' He asks. ''Now that you've sent your personal chef away.''

''Not really.'' I admit. ''I still can't cook.''

He grins at this, and makes a move to stand up off the window sill. I wait for him to offer his hand to me – force of habit, I suppose – but he doesn't, and I realise perhaps we're not quite at a place where casual physical contact is something he's okay with. I pull myself up to follow him, and as he makes a move to leave, he looks over his shoulder at me.

''How do cheese buns sound?''

 **Please keep reviewing guys, it encourages me to update!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey lovelies! Please see the end of this chapter for some notes on the future of this story and where I'm intending to go with it.**

Chapter Three

Peeta leaves my house around midday to head out to the site of his family's old bakery. Since his return, the crew of volunteers slaving to rebuild our razed town have turned their sights to the bakery and it's re-construction. Peeta and I talked briefly about it as he baked cheese buns in my kitchen and then sat on my living room floor to eat them with me. He's not sure how he feels about the bakery going back up, but he's agreed to go along and give his input. I offered my company, but he insisted he wanted to go alone, and I can understand that.

Alone in the quiet of my house again, I decide it's time to escape back to the forest. I haven't been out hunting in a few days, and I'm beginning to feel the claustrophobia of restraint. As I'm making my way out into my front porch, where I lace up my boots and tighten my braid, I see Haymitch stumble out onto his own front steps. As per usual, he has a bottle of white liquor in one hand, already half-empty. I screw my nose up, with no idea of how he can stomach that stuff so early in the day.

''Morning, sweetheart.'' He calls.

''Haymitch, it's nearly one in the afternoon.'' I yell back.

Haymitch ponders this for a moment, then takes a swig from his bottle.

''Good to know.''

I roll my eyes, and make a move to head off before he loudly clears his throat.

''Come in here for a second, we need to talk.''

He turns and moves back into his house, leaving me no room for negotiation. I wonder about the possibility of just ignoring him and walking off into the woods anyway, but as much of an incoherent drunk as Haymitch is most of the time, he's also relentless and remarkably focused when he wants to be. If he wants to talk to me, I won't be able to escape it, and the more I try to avoid it the harder he'll make my life over it.

I patter reluctantly into his home, doing nothing to disguise the way my whole face wrinkles as the smell of his living quarters assaults me. Now that Hazelle's no longer tending to his place, he's fast fallen back to old habits, wallowing in filth and letting the smell of stale alcohol seep into every crevice.

Haymitch has made himself comfortable at his dining table, feet propped up and bottle held protectively in his hand. He nods pointedly to one of the spare seats and I sit, tapping my foot impatiently.

''Yes?'' I prompt.

''Sae didn't to go over to your place this morning.'' It's a statement, but he says it like question.

''She did.'' I argue. ''She delivered groceries, like every morning.''

''But she didn't cook for you.'' He tilts the bottle towards me, like an accusation.

''How do you know?'' I narrow my gaze.

Haymitch takes another long swig and wipes his mouth before he answers.

''She told me.'' He says plainly. ''Don't want you to think I'm creeping around in your buisness, but I have her let me know whenever anything seems… off, with you. I am supposed to be looking after you, after all.''

''Key words being ''supposed to be'', I presume.'' I mutter bitterly.

Haymitch gives me a lopsided smirk.

''Now, now, sweetheart, you and I both know you don't want me mother-henning you any more than I want to be doing it. But I still have an obligation to you, which means when I have to step up, I will.''

''My knight in shiny drunkard.'' I quip. ''So what exactly are you stepping up over? The fact that I declined free cooking this morning?''

''The fact that he was there.'' Haymitch says bluntly.

I look down at my hands, twisting them over the table. There are no sounds for a few seconds, save for my feet tapping against the floor and Haymitch slurping his bottle.

''Did he stay the night?'' Haymitch asks pointedly.

''None of your buisness.'' I say.

''It is entirely my buisness.'' Haymitch swings his legs off the table so quickly that the sound of the hitting the floor makes me jump. ''Answer the question.''

''Yes.'' I rise to the defence immediately. ''He did. Nothing happened. He slept in the spare room, okay?''

Haymitch nods numbly. He pauses again, allows a few more sips of liquor to assist as he gathers his thoughts.

''You wanna tell me why?''

''I had a panic attack.'' I say. ''I ended up outside. He found me and took me home. I didn't want to be alone, so he slept in the other room. That's the whole story.''

 _Well, it's a condensed version of the whole story, anyway_ , I think.

More silence follows. Haymitch offers the bottle to me, and the disgruntled look on my face is all the answer he needs. His shrugs in response and tips it up again.

''How is he?" He says finally.

''What do you mean?'' I ask, though it's clear what he means. What I'm actually asking is ''why are you asking me?''. Thankfully, Haymitch has known me long enough to read between the lines.

''I've hardly seen him since he got back.'' He says. I don't mention that's because he's been in a liquor-induced coma for most of the week since Peeta's return, but I'm sure he can see it in my face, because his eyes narrowly defensively. ''Hardly since he left to join you guys in the Capitol, really. You've seen a lot more of him than I have.''

Just like Haymitch can hear the intention behind my words, I can hear what he's really saying as well. He's not just asking about last night or about the days since Peeta's return to Twelve. He's asking about the Capitol, what kind of man Peeta was when the war ended as opposed to the hijacked lunatic that Coin sent to kill me. He must be wondering now, I realise, because the last Haymitch heard of my thoughts on Peeta, I was furious that he'd been sent to our troop and willing to shoot him if necessary. Now, I'm trusting him not only to spend the night in my house, but to be my rock during a panic attack. Somewhere along the line, things between us shifted. Haymitch wants to know when that was.

''He…'' I trail off, struggling to find the words. The Peeta who's fingers locked around my throat and attempted to squeeze the life out of me and the Peeta who I talked to this morning are worlds away from one another, but I don't know how to describe it. ''He's coming back.''

''How?''

Good question.

''He knows when he's had an episode.'' I say, thinking about how he forced Mitch under the barb wire, then demanded to be killed afterwards. ''It's not a permeant part of his state anymore. He's dangerous when he has episodes… really dangerous… but it comes and goes and he's so sorry it happened. He wanted us to kill him in the Capitol so he couldn't hurt anyone. We settled for handcuffing him instead.

Haymitch holds my gaze intensely. He has an amazing ability to hold steady eye contact considering he can't even pick up a cup without his hands shaking immensely.

''There was one time, after Finnick…'' I swallow hard, and Haymitch nods. It's small and subtle, but I know he's giving me permission to skip the details. ''Peeta wanted to be left behind. Some of the soldiers sacrificed themselves to hold the mutts back and Peeta wanted to go with them. He thought that might be the best thing he could do to contribute to the cause. Maybe he was right. I don't know. But after everything…'' There's a lump pulsating in my throat, and I drop my eyesight to a chink in Haymitch's table, glaring at it and willing myself not to cry. ''You and I, we made a deal to protect him. I couldn't let it end there. I convinced him to stay.''

''How'd you manage that?'' Haymitch's eyebrows shoot up.

I look up again and search the grey clouds of his eyes for hints of sarcasm and mockery. There are none. I realise for the first time I'm not the only one who becomes unbearably frustrated when left out of the loop. In all the chaos that ensued our victory of the war, I suppose no one placed ''fill Haymitch in'' on the priority list.

''I kissed him.'' I say bluntly.

There's a range of emotions that circle Haymitch's face. Surprise, initially, confusion, satisfaction, and finally something that looks like he might be impressed. He swigs his bottle and smirks.

''Nice job, sweetheart.''

''Shut up.'' For some reason, even as I say it, I'm smiling.

''Alright.'' He straightens up purposefully. ''Let's sort this out, shall we?''

''Sort what out?" I groan, not sure I want an answer.

''You love him.''

I can almost physically feel the colour drain from my face. My stomach knots as Haymitch's lips tug up as though he's about to tease me, then thinks better of it. He raises his hands in a truce, warning off my defences before they've started.

''Nobody's saying in what way.'' He justifies. ''But you do.''

''I wish everyone would stop telling me how I feel about Peeta." I drop my head into my hands, thinking of how Finnick had said almost exactly the same thing when we were stranded in Thirteen's underground bunker.

''Are we wrong?'' The taunting grin is back.

''I don't know.'' I murmur. Haymitch nods self-satisfyingly, like that was the answer he expected.

''You do.'' He says again. ''Because if you didn't, we wouldn't have made that deal.''

The deal. Me and him, working together, against Peeta's wishes but for in favour of his life.

''So what?'' I snap. ''You were a part of that deal too.''

''I was.'' He agrees eagerly. ''Because I love the boy as well. But we love him in different ways.''

''You don't know that.'' I fold my arms across my chest, sulkily.

''Fair, enough, I don't. Maybe we do love him in the same way. But I'll tell you one thing.'' He leans in very close, and I visibly gag at the smell of his liquid lunch on his breathe. ''Peeta and I have never cuddled in bed.''

''That-'' I spring up, ready to fight, but my words catch in my mouth. I'd gone to say ''that doesn't count'', since Peeta and I have only ever slept curled up in each others arms when we were trying to fend off nightmares, but I realise quite suddenly that he has a point. Those nights on the victory tour, I never knocked on Haymitch's door and crawled under the covers with him when I was too terrified to sleep. And in our compartment in Thirteen, Johanna and I would shake each other out of nightmares, perch on the edge of beds to calm each other down, but then return to our separate beds, never once opting to share the same bed for comfort. Even after I'd stopped being mad at Finnick for his part of the rebel plot, once I'd found myself full of pity for the weeping, heartbroken mess he'd become, I'd never offered to sleep beside him, so I could help him through his thoughts of Annie and he could help me through mine of Peeta. If I'd only been seeking the close proximity of another victor, someone who knew what I was going through, wouldn't at least one of these situations happened every now and then? But no, the only person who has ever been allowed under my sheets with me, who I have ever trusted to hold me through the turmoil of my unconscious mind, is Peeta. Haymitch, just like always, is irritatingly right – that's not platonic.

''I'm really not pushing anything, sweetheart.'' Haymitch says, and he actually sounds quite genuine. ''All I'm saying is this. He's coming back, and that's something to be really grateful of. But it also means it's time for you to decide how you feel about him, because that boy's broken head isn't going to take another fifteen years of pining after the same girl who keeps him on the hook but never really loves him back.''

I nod numbly, all out of defences. Sometimes, as much as it hurts my pride, you just have to let Haymitch be right.

''Sweetheart, I know you think I'm just looking out for him, but I'm not.'' He moves a trembling hand towards mine across the table, and looks to me for permission before he gently encases my hand in his. Despite how unsteady his grip is, it's comforting, like the way my father would take my hand in a promise that everything would be okay, in a time when I was still small enough to believe him. ''I'm looking out for you too. You can throw things at me or grab a knife for saying this if you have too, but after losing Prim, Gale going away and your mother refusing to come home, I worry that you'll cling to whatever you can find in the way of comfort. I don't want to invest yourself in the boy just because he makes you feel loved and then wake up one day realising that was never what you wanted.''

I shake his hand off roughly, which he seems to expect. After a moment of silence, I gently take it again, in an unspoken apology. Haymitch has never told me what I wanted to hear. He's told me what I needed to hear, which is the reason his company can be so difficult to stomach sometimes. It's also the reason he's one of the few people left I really trust.

''I know.'' Is all I say. I can see that it's enough – Haymitch knows I've heard him, loud and clear.

When I finally leave Haymitch's place, the sun has started to sink into the slumps of the trees. Winter's approaching and the day's in District Twelve are becoming brief stretches of sunlight clasped between thick blackness and icy chill. I decide I've missed my window to go hunting and resolve to head back inside and find something to eat.

I almost jump out of my skin when I enter my house and Peeta is standing at my kitchen bench, brows knitted in concertation as he kneads a large wad of dough. He looks up and I flinches in surprise himself.

''Sorry I didn't mean too-''

''Sorry, I just came in.'' We say at the same time.

''I uh… I'm sorry, I…'' He rubs the back of his neck. ''I came looking for you, but you weren't here.''

''I was at Haymitch's.'' I explain, worrying somehow Peeta will know immediately what Haymitch and I were talking about. If he has any guesses, though, he gives nothing away.

''You don't have much in your cupboard.'' Peeta explains. He seems sheepish about it, but I find my own cheeks flush with embarrassment. I'm doing a poor job at living alone and taking care of myself. I rely on Greasy Sae to cook me breakfast and bring me enough food to get me through a single day. Occasionally there may be some meat in my fridge if I can focus long enough to actually hunt, but most days I make it into the woods, I spend the majority of the time roaming endlessly, thinking of things that shouldn't be thought about.

''I just thought you might like some more cheese buns.'' He continues, returning to kneading his dough, though with less certainty. ''I'll leave if you want. Sorry, I shouldn't have-''

''Stay.'' I cut him off. He gives an affirmative nod and looks back down at the bench.

I want to do something to thank him for the thoughtful gesture, something I would have done before – kissed him on the cheek, wrapped my arms around him, ruffled his hair. I don't know how much physical contact will be pushing the boundaries, though. Coming to join him in the kitchen, I take a deep breathe in and slowly touch my hand too his.

He tenses up, and I withdraw it immediately. He closes his eyes softly, as if thinking of how he feels, then tentatively reaches out and intertwines our fingers.

And so we stay like that, leaning up against the kitchen bench, him making cheese buns with only one hand with tightly holding on to me with the other.

 **So I'm not sure if this is a bit too slow or if it's moving at a good pace for you guys, I just wanted to make it realistic. I find it hard to believe a lot of fanfictions where Peeta comes home and suddenly he at Katniss are immediately having crazy sex and calling each other ''babe'' and what not – I think there's a lot of growing on both ends that needs to happen first, if we're going to be honest to the characters. There WILL be plenty of M rated stuff later on, so if you're in to that stick around haha. Ultimately though, I really want to know if you guys are finding this story interesting and engaging or not? Please leave a review letting me know how you're feeling, I just want an idea of whether or not people are genuinely engaged so I'm not updating pointlessly, if that makes sense. As a writer I also live for feedback, good or bad, because it is indescribable valuable to perfecting craft. So anything you have to say, please say it! Thanks so so much for any reviews you have the time to leave, I appreciate it endlessly!**

A


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey lovelies! Thank you SO much for all the beautiful things you've had to say about this story so far. So glad to know the pacing and characterisation is working for you guys! I'm really enjoying writing this story and I'm so relieved to know you're enjoying reading it!**

Chapter Four

Peeta spends the night at my house again. It's not something we really talk about. At some point while he was making my cheese buns, I noticed the overnight bag he'd bought with him. Peering into it, I could see a pair of pyjamas and a toothbrush. Noticing my staring, I could see him make a move to explain himself, but I beat him too it, asking him how he chooses which cheese to use in the buns. He understood my random redirection as permission for him to stay, and that was that.

Sleep beckons me faster than usual under the safety net that me and my hideous cat aren't alone in the dauntingly large home. It isn't long before the colourful swirls in front of the blacks of my eyelids have morphed to that of a dream. It's not a nightmare – it's one step worse. It's the kind of dream that starts of peaceful and serene, luring me into a false sense of security, before it becomes twisted and horrific.

We're in the meadow, Peeta and I. The grass swallows the lower half of our bodies as we giggle like school children, running bare foot through the soft dirt. The realms of dreams free Peeta from the difficulties he would realistically have in a situation like this – his prosthetic leg would trip him up and make him clumsy. In my dream, he runs effortlessly, almost like he's floating. At some point we collapse, disappearing completely into the flowers and plush green, and his arms wrap around me protectively. The feeling is old and familiar, soothing in the most genuine way. I watch from above as the dream version of myself closes her eyes softly, and I think she's almost asleep when it starts.

Peeta body starts to jerks spastically, and his grip around me tightens. Not in a sweet and loving way, but like a cobra squeezing its prey. His hand gently caressing the side of my hip suddenly stops midway down my stomach, and his flat palm drives his weight into me, rendering me defenceless. His eyes have changed, from baby blue to fiery red, wild and deranged, like a rabid dog. His free hand snakes into my hair and he grips hard fistfuls, smiling maliciously as I hiss in pain. In a smooth rhythm that seems like it could have been meticulously rehearsed, he raises my head and then slams it down into the Earth. The pain reverberates from the back of my skull, but is ultimately a sense that's fades in comparison to the bone-chilling _thump_ the action makes. He repeats until the thumping of my head against the hard ground has created a steady beat to accompany my own whimpers of terror. And in amongst it all, a soft added harmony, he's chanting the same way the lizard mutts that tore Finnick apart were – _Katniss…. Katniss… Katnisss…_

''-Katniss!''

I come to with a squeal, clutching my sweat-soaked sheets in fists close to my body. Buttercup is on all fours, startled from his sleep on the edge of my bed, head tilted in concern. It takes a minute for my ears to pick up anything besides my laboured breathing, but from the second I'm alert I know not all the sounds in my dream were imaginary. I listen carefully, trying desperately to get my breathing under control, and gradually, I'm able to pick it up. The steady but haunting _thwamp_ of a skull meeting a something solid over and over. And with it is his voice, which I now realise was what shook me from my slumber.

''Katniss.'' _Thump._ ''Katniss.'' _Thump._ ''Katniss.'' _Thump._ ''Katniss.'' _Thump._ ''Katniss.''

I drag my duvet off the bed with me as I kick my legs over the side. Buttercup hisses in discontent as he's knocked off the bed in the process. I grit my teeth and hiss back at him.

Out in the hall, my eyes take a second to adjust to the darkness before his silhouette sharpens. A black outline with a messy mop of golden hair, which the moonlight from the hallway window finds and shimmers upon. His hands are firmly planted against the wall as he utters my name again and again, repeatedly slamming his head into the wall as he does.

''Jesus, Peeta!" I cry, stumbling kicking the blanket off of me. My hands find his the backs of his shoulders and I try roughly to pull him away from the wall. He's a lot heavier than I am, and my attempt is clumsy and graceless. As if in a trance, he half-heartedly swats me away and returns to knocking his head on the cement.

''Stop!'' I scream, shaking him side on. Up close, I can now see his eyes are closed but his whole face is scrunched up, like he's in immeasurable pain. As the silver of the moon passes over the creases in his forehead, I realise a bright spark of blood has begun to trickle from his hairline.

''Peeta! You're bleeding!'' I desperately try to get in between him and the wall, but his body is stone and will not move to let me in. ''You need to stop! Shit! Please, stop it!"'

All out of other options and without really thinking it through, my palm connects with the side of his cheek in a fierce slap. If nothing else, I've got the element of surprise on my side, because he jolts in shock and takes a step back. Finally able to get to him head-on, I take both shoulders in my hands and shake him as hard as I can. His head rolls and he lets out a groan before he finally opens his eyes.

His blue eyes bore into mine with an intensity that frightens me, and I worry for the first time about the danger I may be in. I consider the idea that, now that I've gotten him out of harm's way, I should run back to my bedroom and lock the door before he can start throwing my head against the wall. But then his pupils leave mine and begin to move from side to side, and I realise the look is not ferocity, but disorientation. He doesn't know where he is or what's just happened.

''I think you were sleepwalking.'' I whisper softly. Instinctively, my fingers find the red graze on his forehead, and he winces as I touch it. I withdraw my hand and utter and apology.

His eyes widen a little at the sight of his blood on my fingertips. Looking over my shoulder, he spots the identical patch of red on the wall, and sighs.

''That's happened before.'' He says quietly. Seeming to notice the way my whole face is contorted in worry, he adds ''it's nothing for you to stress over.''

''How long has that been going on for?'' I ask. I'm resisting the urge to wipe the blood away the blood that's making it's way towards his eye.

''Since I got back from the Capitol, I think.'' He says, taking my blood-stained hand cautiously. Gently, he presses my fingertips to the white fabric of his shirt and wipes them clean, not care for the ugly red marks that are now there. ''I have these really bad dreams and I hurt myself in my sleep.''

''How exactly is that nothing for me to stress over?" I heard my voice crack as it rises in pitch. ''Peeta, that's serious.''

''Compared to the fact that I killed a member of our squad in the Capitol, I wouldn't call some sleepwalking and a bit of blood serious.'' He utters back.

It occurs to me perhaps Peeta is unfazed by his sleepwalking because in some warped way, he thinks he deserves the harm he causes himself.

''Why were you saying my name?'' I blurt out.

Peeta looks at me for a few seconds, the exhales loudly.

''Was I?'' He looks defeated. ''I don't know. I hardly ever remember what I was dreaming about once I'm awake.''

''You can't do that again.'' I say firmly. ''You can't hurt yourself like that.''

''I don't know what you want me to do about it, Katniss.'' He says. ''It's not something I do on purpose.''

''Come on.'' I demand, making a move to walk towards my bedroom. Peeta stands still and watches with a muddled look on his face. Frustrated, I march back in his direction and take his hand roughly, then drag him towards my bedroom before he can protest.

Once in my room, I lead him to the attached bathroom, where I flick the light and sit him on the closed toilet lid. I run a washcloth under warm water, then make my movements as soft a feathery as possible as I brush his blonde curls away from the wound.

''This might sting a little, but if we don't clean it, it'll get infected.'' I say. Always clean cuts and grazes, no matter how insignificant they might seem. It's odd, the things I never knew I absorbed from all the years of my mother healing patients in our kitchen until I needed them myself.

Peeta flinches as the cloth comes down on his forehead, but after a moment, he's sighing in relief. I'm careful to clean all the blood from his eyebrows and above his eye, and when I'm satisfied, I cover the damaged skin in a lightweight bandaid from the first aid kit under the sink. Smoothing out the bandaid with my fingers, I find myself so close to all the details of Peeta's face I never thought I'd get this close to again. The thick curve of his eyebrows, the golden glow of his long lashes, the point of his nose, the dimples of his cheeks, the pink of his lips. I take longer than necessary pressing the bandaid down, as my eyes roam over each of these features like it's the first time I'm seeing them. And then my feelings are driving my actions before my brain can catch up, and I'm placing a kiss right on the perch of his nose.

Peeta looks shocked, but I imagine it's nothing compared to how I look. My mouth hangs open lamely, one eye takes on a twitch.

''I'm so sorry, I… I don't know why I did that.'' I press a palm to my forehead, humiliation turning my whole face a deep crimson.

''No.'' Peeta shakes his head, and I notice a bead of sweat starting along his jawline under the fluorescent lights of the bathroom. ''It's fine. I… could you, maybe do it again?"'

My heart skips into my throat and I feel it pounding right at the forefront of my neck. Closing my eyes, I bring my lips down against his nose once again, breathing in the smell of the honey-oil soap Greasy Sae gave me that he's clearly been using in my shower. They graze over the skin there, and with my eyes closed, the short drop to his lips seems so natural.

It's the first time we've kissed properly since the Quarter Quell, without counting the kiss in the Capitol when Peeta wanted to throw himself to the wolves, or in this case, the lizards. That kiss reeked of sorrow and desperation and heartache. This one feels a million miles away from that one. It's so delicate, like if we press too hard we'll break. He eases his lips open and allows mine to sit comfortably in between them, and it seems for a moment all that exists is me and him and the feeling of coming home.

When we break away, it's him that initiates it. With fingers daintily placed on my shoulders, he eases my mouth from his and looks up at me. I look back, and we're both silently asking if that was wrong, if that was too much, if we should apologise. We both answer, as well, and there is no apologising that takes place.

''I should go back to my room now.'' He says. ''Thank you, for taking care of me.''

''Sleep in my room.'' I say. ''So I'll know if you get back up. You can't do that again.''

Peeta's face falls, and I wonder if there's anything more disheartening and physically watching the glow disappear from someone's eyes.

''No.'' He says harshly. ''It's not safe.''

''Then sleep on the floor.'' I insist.

''Katniss-''

''Peeta.'' I cut him off, raising an eyebrow. I hold his gaze in a way that lets him know my refusal to let it go. Finally, he breaks into a smile, and it's instantly infectious.

''You're impossible, you know that?'' He says.

''I believe I've been told once or twice before, yes.'' I agree with a laugh.

Peeta ducks back to the spare room, and when he returns, he has the bedding with him. I crawl into bed and settle in, watching him arrange his sheets and pillows on the floor. Then I listen contently as his breathing becomes steady and peaceful, and eventually, my own sounds the same.

 **Please keep the reviews coming guys! And absolutely feel free to include any ideas or desires you have for this story, I'm totally open to your input!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey loves! So this is the last fluffy innocent chapter before things start to heat up a little. Thanks for being so patient with me, I promise the good stuff is coming! Also thanks so much for the reviews, they legit make my day about 5000 times better.**

Chapter Five

There are things that change about a large manor home when you live alone.

The double story layout that causes upstairs footsteps to echo and pound stops being annoying, but rather a sound you long to hear sometime other than when your own feet are causing it. You're surprised by how quickly the house becomes dark as evening sets in, because you forget that if you don't turn on the lights nobody will. With no chatter or movement or sounds of life from anyone but yourself, every noise is amplified. And at 6am in the morning, the downstairs phone ringing is the loudest goddam thing you've ever heard.

The ringing persists, and my sleep-deprived state, I do nothing but roll over and jam my head under my pillow to try and drown it out. Eventually it stops, and I let out a sigh of content that barely lasts a second before it starts up again.

I throw my pillow across the room in frustration, and Peeta jumps in surprise. I flinch too, having forgotten he spent the night on my floor.

''Oh, jeez, sorry, I forgot you were there.''

''It's okay.'' Peeta picks up my pillow and carefully replaces it on my bed. ''Are you going to get that?''

''The phone? No. He'll stop eventually.'' I shrug, rubbing my eyes. ''Then we can go back to sleep.''

''The phone's a he?'' Peeta looks up, sleepy and confused. I can't help the laugh that escapes me.

''No, idiot, the caller. Dr. Aurelius.''

The ringing stills and the houses lapses back into it's default state of silence. Peeta and I stare at each other, waiting expectantly. I count to seven in my head before it starts again.

''Jesus Christ!'' I cry. ''What the hell? He never calls at this time of morning, and he never tries more than once. He's very used to the fact that I won't pick up the phone.''

''Are you sure it's him?'' Peeta asks.

''Obviously. Who else would call me?''

Peeta doesn't say anything, but instead busies himself with carefully folding up the blankets he used as a makeshift bed.

''Peeta?'' I cock an eyebrow. ''Who else would call me?''

''No one.'' Peeta's still not looking at me. He's now found a loose thread on one of the sheets, and is cautiously twirling it around his finger in an effort to remove it without pulling the whole blanket apart. ''You're right. It's probably just Dr. Aurelius.''

''You're a horrible liar.''

The phone gives out once again, and as the seconds turn to minutes I declare it safe to assume the caller has finally given up. I slid off of the bed and come to sit down beside Peeta. I cover his hand with my own, forcing him to leave the thread alone. He jerks on impulse at the touch of my hand, but then relaxes.

''It might have been your mother.'' He says.

My chest clenches at the mention of my mother. I fight the desire to drag my hand away from him, some deep rooted instinct to immediately close off. Instead, I wiggle myself a little closer, so that our knees are touching.

''And why would she call me?'' I'm being as patient as I can and trying my best to keep irritation away from my tone. Neither of those things come naturally to me.

''Annie goes back to the Capitol a lot.'' As he speaks, his hand hovers awkwardly above my knee, like he's trying to work up the courage to place it on my leg. I gently take his hand and place it there, giving him a small smile of encouragement as he begins to softly stroke my knee with his thumb. ''I saw her right before I came home. She says your mum talks about you a lot. She also said she's been trying to convince your mum to call you.''

My throat constricts, and I grit my teeth. There's no possible way to be mad at Annie – her heart, like always, is in the right place. She must be hurting so much after losing Finnick, that the thought of mother and daughter separated for no reason other than they're own unwillingness to work on a relationship would kill her. Annie doesn't understand why my mum and I are can't talk to one another. She also doesn't understand that pressuring my mum to call me will only cause us both grief.

''Do you want to come into the woods with me today?'' I decide abruptly. Peeta blinks in surprise.

''But… aren't I too loud?'' He asks timidly. ''I scare off the game.''

''We're not going hunting.'' I stand up, and help him off the ground as well. ''I just need to get out of here. I need to get out of this house. And there's something in the woods I want to show you.''

The first challenge we face is actually getting Peeta into the woods. One of the first things the crew reconstructing District Twelve did was erect a fence separating us from the woods, replacing the one pulled down by Gale and his friends to save people from the bombs. It's still technically illegal to venture off into them, though the rules now purely serve as protection for civilians against the dangers of the woods, but nobody ever interferes with my hunting. The new fence is wire mesh with a smooth top, which makes it fairly simple to climb over. What's a lot less simple is helping someone who has a prosthetic leg do the same.

The fence burrows deep into the ground, and it's too sturdy to try and pull up. Besides, as much as the fence serves as an inconvenience to me, this District has seen enough of my selfishness – I'm not going to do damage to their brand new fence just for my own ease. I try to guide Peeta step by step through the process of scaling and jumping the fence, but his prosthetic leg just won't cooperate. I try to climb beside him, helping him up, but he needs two hands to climb and that leaves nothing to hold on to me with. My next idea is to try and give him a boost, and when I inevitably fail to lift him even a centimetre off the ground, we're both left laughing hysterically over the fact that we thought for even a second that would work. It takes me a moment to realise that I'm laughing over the fact that I can't solve a situation, instead of kicking something in anger, and I don't know why that is. Regardless, I decide very quickly it's a good thing.

When I've finally gotten my giggles under control, I'm struck with another idea. I make a terrible boost-up for Peeta, but something else might not. Expertly scaling the fence and dropping onto the forest floor, I start to scavenge for broken tree branches thick enough for the purpose. The trees closest to the fence are constantly losing branches, their trunks and roots weakened from the backlash of electric current from when the fence was powered. Once I've selected and tossed over four branches, Peeta's able to stack them on one another and step up onto the pile. He has to grip the fence for support, but is now waist high with the top of it. From there, he's able to swing his good leg over, and coax his bad leg into awkwardly following. He stumbles ungracefully from the top of the fence into the woods.

''How exactly am I supposed to get back out?'' He asks, brow lined with sweat and eyes twinkling from so much laughter.

''Eh.'' I shrug. ''That sounds like a problem for later.''

We walk for twenty minutes in silence, simply taking in the sights and sounds and each other's company. At some point our fingers meet and our hands intertwine, and though neither one of us make any acknowledgement too it, we stay like that, walking hand in hand.

We pass a small patch of blue flowers, colouring bursting vibrantly from their petals, and I have to swallow the lodge in my throat. If the blue was just a little softer, it would be a perfect match for Prim's eyes.

Or would it? I holt unexpectedly, my feet digging into the dirt, jerking on Peeta's hand. He asks why we've stopped, but all my attention is on those damning blue flowers. I drop to my knees in front of them, getting as close as possible, drinking in their shade. Do they need to be lighter, or is this exactly right? How deep a blue were Prim's eyes? Were they a milky blue, like the colour of the lake on a sunny day, or were they an intense blue, like these flowers? They were blue, and they were beautiful, and they were full of life and innocence and everything I loved about my sister, but what goddamn _shade_ of blue were they? Why don't I know off the top of my head?

''Katniss!'' Peeta's voice rises in concern. ''Hey! Hey! It's okay. It's alright. What's wrong?''

The flowers distort in front of my eyes, becoming glassy and wobbly, and that's when I realise I'm crying. I aggressively wipe the tears from my face, but I can't stop them flowing.

''Prim's eyes.'' Is all I manage to croak out.

''Yes.'' Peeta agrees softly, touching one of the flowers gently. ''These flowers do look a bit like Prim's eyes.

''Do they?'' I turn on him, the aggravation in my voice making him jump. ''Or are they too blue? Or are they not blue enough? Shit!''

''Hey, hey.'' Peeta places a hand on my shoulder. The comfort is immediate, and I feel the hostility seeping from my muscles. ''What are you talking about?''

''I don't remember what colour Prim's eyes were.'' My bottom lip shakes uncontrollably.

Peeta sits all the way down on the ground, making himself comfortable amongst the scrub and plants. He touches each one of the flowers, as if examining them, then finally chooses his favourite and picks it. He holds it under my gaze, letting the sunlight fully appreciate it's rich colour.

''They weren't quite this bright.'' He says. ''But they had the same kind of colour too them. Blue can come in a lot of different forms, and this kind of blue, very clean and thorough without any other shades mixing through it, this was the kind of blue Prim's eyes were. They were just a little less intense than this.''

I close my eyes tightly, trying to conjure up the image he's talking about. When I open them again, I mentally alter the shade of the petals, converting them into a lighter blue but keeping all other qualities, then I imagine that colour in my sister's eyes. It feels right.

''How did you know that?'' I snatch the flower off of him. I don't mean to sound so harsh, but I'm upset by the fact that Peeta can remember Prim's eyes and I can't.

''I'm a painter.'' Peeta doesn't seem offended by my aggression at all. ''I notice colours, and I remember them better than the average person would. Just like you remember edible berries and your mother remembers healing plants and Haymitch remembers which liquors you can drink straight with the lowest chance of blinding yourself.''

I'm so torn up that laughing should be impossible, and yet my lips crack into a grin. I remember the way Prim used to be the only person in the world who could make me laugh when I didn't want too. Somewhere along the line, I guess Peeta picked up that talent as well.

''Will you paint her for me?'' I gasp through my sobs. ''Prim? So I don't forget again?''

''Of course.'' He agrees immediately.

I don't realise I'm going to kiss him until my lips are already there. Even once I've actioned it, it takes a few seconds of fully soaking in the feeling of his soft lips on mine to realise it's happening. I wait for him to pull away like in the bathroom, assuming he'll reach his limit of how much he can take before he gets too overwhelmed soon. Instead, he deepens the kiss, reaching up to thread his fingers through my hair and an arm around my waist.

Heat radiates for deep within me as our chests push together. The feeling of his palm on the small of my back soothes the stress and angst from my body, and when his tongue slides into my mouth, I can't stop the noise that escapes me. It disappears into Peeta's lips, but I feel the vibrations against my mouth as a moan of his own escapes.

This time, it's me that comes to my senses first. I pull away quite suddenly, too suddenly I presume, from the crestfallen look on Peeta's face. I know somehow he thinks he's done something wrong, even though I was the one who kissed him first. But I don't stop because it's gone too far, or because he's crossed a line, or even because I wanted too. It's because at the worst possible time, Haymitch's voice has wormed its' way into my head.

 _That boy's broken head isn't going to take another fifteen years of pining after the same girl who keeps him on the hook but never really loves him back._

Is that what I'm doing? Easing Peeta back onto the hook for my own selfish wants – so I'll have someone to kiss, hold, be with when it suits me, but refusing to love him the way he needs to be loved? I'm not meaning too, if I am, I'm just doing what feels natural at the time. But maybe that's the problem. Maybe I need to stop treating my relationship with Peeta as something that can change statues based on how I'm feeling at any given day, because that will never work for him like it will for me. All I'll do is put him back together just to break him apart myself.

''We need to keep going.'' I say to a still shell-shocked Peeta. ''If we want to be at the lake before the afternoon."

''You're taking me to a lake?'' Peeta fumbles to his feet.

''It's a place I used to go with my father all the time.'' I explain, looping my hand back through his. I see the way his shoulders visibly relax with the gesture, the reassurance that he hasn't done anything to upset me. ''I think you'll like it.'' I omit to mention I also used to go there with Gale all the time, because that's not relevant and because I don't particularly want to discuss Gale with Peeta. Or with anyone these days, really.

As we walk, I try to think about everything I've ever felt for Peeta. I don't know if it'll help me work out how I feel about him or not, but it seems like a fair enough place to start.

I think about the gratitude I felt the day he threw me the bread in the rain, how I felt a deep warmth I'd never truly had towards another person outside of my family.

I think about the moment his name was drawn out at the reaping, how even then, before I even knew him, all I could hope was that someone else would kill him before I had to do it, because how could I repay someone who'd shown such an act of kindness with a knife to their throat?

I think about when I cut his hand up with the vase before I realised how much he'd helped me by announcing his unrequited love for me in the tribute interviews, the night I realised I never really would stop owing him.

Then there was us in the cave, how we kept each other warm in the sleeping bag, how I managed to find a few precious hours of sleep with complete faith he would guard me. I think the hot anger that boiled inside me when he wouldn't let me go to the feast for his medicine, the relief I felt when I was able to drug him into a sleep. I was so joyous, to have a chance to dive head first into a bloodbath for medicine that would make no difference to weather or not I was a victor. Was that because I felt I had no choice but to stick with Peeta or I'd be the country's most unloved victor? Maybe, but maybe not. The euphoria hat pounded through my veins when the cream healed his leg was something much deeper than that.

Next comes the victory tour, how he was the only thing that kept my sanity together, how he never questioned my need for him in the night time hours even when I hardly acknowledged him through the day. I think about the gesture in District 11, when he donated part of our winnings to Rue and Thresh's family, how I kissed him so naturally, not for show but out of genuine awe of how amazing he truly was.

My only priority in the Quell was keeping him alive, because a life lived after seeing Peeta murdered before my own eyes wasn't a life I wanted to contemplate living. The trauma would be too much, the nightmares would never stop, dandelions in the spring and warm bread from ovens and the colour of sunsets would feel like needles in my spine. I couldn't lose him and face the world with my head held high, just like I couldn't lose Gale, or my mother…or Prim.

And then I did lose him, and my sanity went with it. What does it mean, that nothing mattered to me in Thirteen besides Peeta's safe return? Not the rebellion, not being the Mockingjay, not the propos or our freedom, Peeta and his safety was all I cared about. And when I didn't get it, I lost my mind.

We reach the water, and there's a slight uncomfortableness we try our best to ignore as we slip from our clothes and into our underwear. It's not that we haven't seen each other in our underwear before, just that it's been a while.

I undress first and wade into the water, comforted by the cloak of blue hiding my body from view. Peeta's stripped out of his shirt, but has to focus carefully to drag his trousers down and over his prosthetic leg. Against all will, I find myself watching him, staring unabashedly, unable to look away.

I do love Peeta, and everyone knows it, but how? It what way? All those things I've just thought of don't mean anything besides love, a love that could be completely plutonic.

Except for the few other small details. That night on the train to the Capitol for the Quarter Quell, when we kissed passionately on the couch, and his lips seemed to suck the poison from my body. The afternoons before the 75th games spent on the rooftops with my head in his lap. The nights in bed together, when we cuddled so close that it felt like our bodies were melting together, and I never wanted him to let go. The times he touched me and I felt hot, not outside but inside, like he was setting my skin on fire.

And that night on the beach. I hadn't thought about it again until now. As I watch him kick his shorts away and take in the sunlight hitting his near bare body, the way it shines through his bronze hair, bounces off the blue of his eyes, lights up every aspect of him, I feel something bubbling inside me. It's the beginning of that same hunger that overcame me on the beach, when I couldn't take him in enough, when I couldn't get close enough to him, when I wanted more but I didn't know what more was. I haven't thought about it because I'm scared of what more is. But now, watching him slowly wade into the shallow water, the duck his head under only to come back up with water dripping from his hair, I want it again. Images are flashing through my mind, things I've never thought of before, of being in our underwear not to swim but of our own accord, of kissing things other than his mouth, like his neck or his chest, of feeling his hands on my body in places other than the modest hip of back he always goes for.

''Hey.'' Peeta's voice startles me, and I worry irrationally that he somehow knows exactly what I was thinking about. My face burns in shame. I have no idea where those thoughts even came from. ''Are you okay?''

''Yeah.'' I give my head a little shake, as if to free the thoughts completely. ''Yeah, I'm fine. Come on, I'll teach you back stroke.''

 **So things are still obviously gonna build pretty slowly, but things will start heading towards being M rated next chapter. Would we be able to get this story up to 20 reviews before then? If so, I'll update immediately, so review review review!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks again for all the lovely comments! Please forgive this update for not being immediate immediate, since you all reviewed faster than I could actually finish writing it, which is amazing TBH. Please enjoy!**

Chapter Six

Over the next week, Peeta continues to spend the night at my house. He expresses concerns that he's invading my space, but now that I know about the sleepwalking, I won't let him spend nights alone in his own house. I tell Haymitch as well why it's now important, not for my sake but for his, that Peeta isn't alone when he sleeps. He nods vaguely and says to let him know if I need any help, which is Haymitch speak for ''not my problem, sweetheart''.

During his third night on my bedroom floor, I wake up to a loud crash that bounces off the walls of my bedroom. Buttercup shrieks in alarm and my eyes spring open, my fight-or-flight instincts immediately switching into overdrive – after two arenas and a war, bumps in the night do that to a person.

Peeta is standing at the edge of my bed, eyes squeezed shut but face twisted in aggression. His body is angled towards my back wall, where a the shattered remains of a plate fan the floor. I realise he's holding a pile of plates in one hand and a single plate in the other, raised threateningly and ready to hurl, and I curse myself for not hearing him get up and go down to the kitchen.

''Peeta!'' I scream, which provokes him into throwing the next plate. His eyes remain closed, but the plate hits right next to my bed, and I realise whatever programming in his brain kicks in when he's asleep is trying to hit me, and is using my voice to figure out where I am.

I turn over in bed and place my feet on the floor without making a sound. Peeta stands still, huffing and panting in his growing frustration, as I make my way out the bedroom door in complete silence. Moving without making any noise is effortless to me, but I can't move quickly and quietly at the same time. And so once I've escaped the danger of the bedroom, I choose speed over stealth and sprint my way down the stairs and out of the house, my feet hammering against the ground, closely followed by Peeta's own monstrous footsteps.

Once I'm outside, my voice finds it's way back to my throat and I'm crying out Haymitch's name. As Peeta catches up to my and fumbles out of my doorway I'm across the street and kicking as hard as I can on Haymitch's door.

The door swings open and Haymitch barrels out, drunk and unsteady. I instinctively duck to avoid the knife he sleeps with, but realise he's clutching only a three-quarter empty vodka bottle. That's when I remember he doesn't sleep at night, which is actually very convenient right about now.

Haymitch doesn't need to be briefed. As soon as he sees Peeta charging, he drops his bottle, spraying liquid and glass up the side of my leg. In an instant he has Peeta by the shoulders, wrestling him out of his sleep.

''Come on, boy!'' He grunts, giving Peeta's head a shake that seems to rough. ''Wake up!''

Peeta groans and hisses and attempts to blindly wrangle his way out of Haymitch's grasp, but after a few moments he relents. His eyes blink harshly, and when they fully open and show pupils of blue dilated with fear and disorientation, I know he's snapped out of it.

''Thanks, Haymitch.'' I sigh in relief. ''I'll take if from here.''

''I don't think so.'' He snorts, placing a hand on a very distraught-looking Peeta's shoulder. ''Come on boy, I'll get you back to your place.''

''No!'' My eyes widen in panic. ''He can't go back to his place! What if it happens again?''

''Exactly what I'm thinking.'' Haymitch says. I recognise the defensive tone and stance he's taken on, and adjust my own posture to mimic his. When Haymitch and I don't agree on the best way to handle a situation, we're not unlike alpha animals in a showdown, battling for dominance. ''You might not make such a clean getaway next time.''

''Getaway from what?'' Peeta huffs in alarm. ''What did I do? What happens?''

''He's more of a danger to himself then me.'' I insist. ''He can't be alone. I told you that.''

''You can't honestly expect me to send him back to your place after he tried to kill you.''

''What?'' Peeta's breathing is so heavy I'm sure most of District Twelve must be able to hear it. ''Oh my god, what did I do?''

''He threw a couple of plates, big deal.'' I snap. ''Considering he tried to strangle me, I'd call that an improvement.''

''I tried to strangle you?'' The colour disappears from Peeta's face.

''No!'' I say, waving him off. ''I mean, yes, but not tonight, ages ago. You know that. Just be quiet for a second.''

''No.'' Peeta shakes his head forcefully. ''Haymitch is right. I can't stay with you.''

''Well you can't stay alone.'' I stamp my foot in frustration. ''And Haymitch is hardly going to be any help.''

''Sorry, who just saved your ass?'' Haymitch snuffs.

''I got lucky.'' I spit back. ''By complete chance you weren't in a drunken coma this time. Peeta, come on, we're going back to my house.''

''Sweetheart.'' I can tell from Haymitch's voice he's coming to the end of his patience with me. ''You know that's not wise.''

''I should never have been in your bedroom in the first place.'' Peeta says, pulling at his own hair. ''I told you that was a bad idea?''

''I'm sorry, your bedroom?'' Haymitch raises his eyebrows in the way people do when they've just found out something that infuriates them.

''On my floor!'' I yell. ''He was sleeping on my floor!''

''Did you keep even a shred of your sanity after the war, Mockingjay?'' Haymitch is now so in my face that his saliva hits my face as he speaks. ''You were letting a boy who does violent things in his sleep spend the night in the same room as you?''

''It was her idea.'' Peeta says, and I can't help feeling a little insulted, like a kid who's just been dobbed in by her friend. ''I didn't want too, I said it was too dangerous-''

''Shut up, boy.'' Haymitch says without looking. ''No one's talking to you.''

''So he'll go back to sleeping in the guest bedroom.'' I say. ''But he needs to stay where I can keep an eye on him.''

Haymitch holds my gaze in a challenge I don't refuse. When he eventually backs away, I get the sense that I've won, but not entirely.

''Both of you, with me.'' He says, stomping towards my house without giving either of us a second glance. Peeta and I look at each other in concern, but follow him wordlessly. He leads us up the stairs, past my bedroom, the bedroom that used to belong to my mother and the bedroom that will always be Prim's, to the very end of the hall where the guest bedroom is.

''This is where you sleep.'' Haymitch's words are directed at Peeta, but he's looking straight at me, and it's no doubt why. Peeta will do whatever he's told - he's not the one with an obedience problem. ''And I want the door barricaded so he can't get up and go wandering.''

''And what if he hurts himself in the room?'' I argue, but truth-be-told, I'm sleepy, groggy and running out of fight.

''If it's serious, you'll hear it.'' Is all I get in response. ''Lose the small battles to win the big ones, sweetheart. Thought you would've learnt that by now.''

And so for the next four nights, Peeta sleeps in the guest room with a sturdy chair tucked underneath the handle, making it impossible to open from the inside. The quality of my sleep deteriorates even further, against all probability of that even being possible. I'm so worried about Peeta and weather or not he's safe that I'm up four or five times a night with my ear pressed to the guest room door, listening for any sounds of movement. The second I hear anything come from his end of the house I'm on my feet and frantically tossing the chair out of the way so I can check on him properly. He's always sound asleep. The only upside is that my nightmares stay away, since I'm rarely asleep long enough to have one.

On the fifth night since Peeta's plate-throwing incident, I'm so desperate for sleep that my the backs of my eyes are burning unbearably. Once night time has rolled around, I do everything I can to make my bedroom as inviting as possible. I kick Buttercup off of my bed and lock him in Prim's room for the night, figuring he'll be content enough sleeping on sheets that smell like her to forget he's alone. I make the bed properly for the first time in ages, and I make Peeta promise that he'll scream as loud as he can if he needs me. He says he will, and that might have given my mind a little ease if I actually believed him.

I collapse into bed with every muscle in my body aching from exhaustion and will myself to fall asleep instantly. It doesn't work. No matter how hard I try, I cannot switch off the part of my brain that's listening out carefully for any hint that Peeta might need me. I check the clock every five minutes, cursing myself out as the minutes tick by and sleep refuses to find me. By the time I've been in bed for nearly two hours without drifting off for even a second, I decide enough's enough.

I climb out of bed and switch my bedside lantern on, then carry it with me down the hall, around the corner and to Peeta's room. I defiantly kick the chair out of the way and let myself in, the lantern setting glow to the dark room.

I set the lantern down on the bedside table and pull the covers back. The movement stirs Peeta and he hazily rubs his eyes before opening them just in time to see me climbing into bed with him.

''What happened?'' He's awake immediately, sitting up in bed. ''What did I do?''

''No, nothing, nothing.'' I say soothingly, gesturing for him to lie back down. ''I can't sleep in my room. I'm too worried about you.''

''So you're going to sleep in here?'' Peeta looks at me like I've just told him I'm going to stick my hand in a blender. ''Are you crazy? If I don't kill you, Haymitch will!''

''Screw Haymitch.'' I mumble. ''If he really cared, he'd actually check in once in a while. The only reason he doesn't want us sleeping in the same room is so we don't annoy him when things go wrong.''

I know I'm being unfair to Haymitch, but I'm so goddam tired and breaking his rules are the least of my worries if it means I get a decent sleep.

Peeta probably protested and argued and pleaded for me to think through the implications a little more, but I'll never know, because with seconds of curling up in his bed, I'm dead to the world.

When I wake up, my head is no longer nuzzled in the soft pillow but rather in the crook of Peeta's neck. In our sleep, we've rolled together and ended up entangled, with his arms wrapped around my waist and my draped over his side.

For the first time in days, I wake up feeling well-rested and refreshed. Peeta wakes up a moment after me, and I can already see the apology forming on his lips when he realises we're cuddled up together. Before he has the chance to say anything or try and pull away, I silence him with a soft kiss.

''Morning.'' I say.

''Morning.'' He smiles back. ''Did you sleep okay?''

''So well.'' I grin. ''And you?''

''Best sleep I've had in ages.''

''See? What does Haymitch know about what the best sleeping arrangement for us is?'' I can't help it. The light dies out of Peeta's eyes, and my stomach knots when I realise he's about to lecture me about how, as nice as it was, it really was dangerous for me to get in bed with him. I'm definitely not in the mood for that. I'm not really in the mood for anything besides seeing that smile again.

''Shut up.'' I say, and Peeta narrows his eyes.

''I didn't say anything.''

''Yeah, but you were gonna. Don't.'' And with that, I push our mouths back together.

Peeta must be getting used to this kissing thing, because this time, there's no resistance in his body. He parts his lips to let me in immediately, and the rush is immediate. There's a small spark in my body, reminiscent of what I felt last week at the lake, heading in the direction of being what I felt on the beach. Closer, I need to be closer.

I kick the blankets off of us, suddenly feeling restrained and suffocated. Without pausing to take my lips off of Peeta's, I swing my legs over and come to rest on top of him. He gasps and squirms underneath me, and then he's pulling his mouth away.

''What?'' I ask, feeling my cheeks light up. ''I… yeah, okay, sorry.''

''No, no, no, no, no.'' Peeta says, grabbing my wrist as I roll off of him and make a move to get out of bed. ''No, don't do that.''

''Do what?'' I snap.

''That thing we're you get all annoyed and shut me out.'' He says.

''I get it, you don't want to kiss.'' I say, hating that he's calling me out again. ''Whatever, it's fine.''

''I _do_ want too.'' Peeta's voice is pleading, and he gives an insistent tug on my hand. I roll my eyes and drop back into bed but keep a considerable distance between us. Peeta closes it, moving to lie right beside me.

''Then what's the problem?''

Now it's Peeta's turn to look embarrassed. He self-consciously pulls the sheets around himself tighter, and then lovingly tucks my hair away to expose my neck. He plants soft kisses along my collarbone, and the explosions they set off underneath my skin are almost enough to make me forget he's avoiding the question.

Once he's worked his way back to my mouth, I forget what the question was in the first place. I grip the back of his head and pull him towards me, struck again with that unexplainable need to be _closer._ He brings his lips down but won't move the rest of his body, and with frustration, I make a move to get on top of him again. He places a firm hand on my hip to keep me where I am.

''Jesus!" I cry, pushing off of him. ''What? What is up with you?''

''It's just…'' Peeta rubs that back of his neck sheepishly. I try not to look too pissed off and be a little sympathetic to the growing colour in his face, but my short fuse is burning to the end of it's life. ''It's a lot.''

''I know.'' I sigh. ''And if it gets too much for you to process, you only have to tell me. I just don't get why-''

''No, Katniss.'' Peeta cuts me off, now unable to even meet my eyes. ''Not like that.''

''Then what?'' I feel like I'm supposed to be picking up on some kind of message here, but I'm not, and that's only annoying me more.

''Peeta.'' I whisper, planting a soft kiss on his forehead. He closes his eyes and lets a heavy exhale out. ''Whatever it is, it's okay.''

I don't know if that gives any kind of comfort to whatever Peeta thinks the problem is, but once our kissing heats back up, I try once more to straddle him, and this time he just lets it happen. Pushing my chest down into his allows our mouths to completely melt together, and I find some of the urges inside me settling down and finding satisfaction, but there's still a burning part of me chasing that mysterious _more._

I'm sitting across his torso, but the position makes it hard to get as close to him as I want to be. I begin to adjust my position, slipping a leg in between Peeta's thighs, and I feel his sharp intake of breath which startles me off of his lips. His blue eyes flicker in alarm, and before I can get annoyed again, my thigh grazes against something hard and firm and Peeta's face goes redder than I've ever seen it.

''Oh, god, I'm so sorry.'' I stammer, pulling away and trying to get control over my own burning face.

''No, no, I, I'm sorry.'' Peeta furiously gathers up the sheets and piles them over his crotch. ''I… I didn't mean for you to…'' He flounders, looking anywhere but at me. ''I can't help it, it just happens.''

''Wait…'' Despite the fact that I'm still blushing like an idiot, a small smirk comes to play on my lips. ''Is _that_ what you were worried about?''

Peeta's jaw unhinges slightly, and against all attempts to stop it, I find myself bursting into laughter. Peeta's eyebrows furrow and he wraps his arms around himself.

''What?'' He sulks. ''What are you laughing at?''

''Nothing.'' I manage to get out in between giggles. ''Nothing… it's just… you're adorable.''

''I'm adorable?'' Peeta manages a tiny smile against his red face.

''I thought you were trying to fend off a flashback or you were about to have a mental breakdown and you're just trying to hide the fact that you're aroused from me.'' I'm still laughing. ''That's really cute.''

''I thought you'd be uncomfortable.'' I get the sense that I'm wounding Peeta's pride, which in all honesty, only amuses me even more.

''Why?''

''Katniss, in the arena I was literally on the brink of death and you still made me undress myself so you didn't have to see me naked.''

''That was a long time ago.'' I'm worming my way back towards him. ''A lot of things have changed.''

Peeta's lips twist like he's about to say something smart in retaliation but I don't give him the chance. We're back to making out, and this time, there's he's the one that pins me, concern and discretion tossed out the window. I wrap a leg around his hip and he lets out a growl that vibrates against my mouth. I shift to get more comfortable beneath him and as my hips rock against hardness, a small spark is set off inside of me. The pining deep within me is insatiable, and my mind can only produce one word – more. More. More. More.

Eventually Peeta pulls away, lips raw and swollen. When he catches his breathe again, he gives me a smirk and says ''I think I need a cold shower.''

''Well I need breakfast, so you'd better not be too long.''

Since Peeta's been staying here, Greasy Sae has stopped coming in to make breakfast, and simply leaves a bag of groceries on my doorstep, which Peeta uses to make meals out of.

''You could learn to cook you know.'' He says, climbing out of bed. I'm about to snark something back when he stands up, and for the first time I have a full view of the bulge straining against his pyjama pants. It's not small and it makes no effort to disguise itself, and for some unspeakable reason I can't look anywhere but directly at it.

Peeta adjusts his t-shirt so that it hides it a little, and my cheeks are set on fire once again when I realise what that means – he knows I'm starring. Looking up at his eyes, finally, I'm relieved to see him grinning.

''You could also learn a little subtly.'' He whispers cheekily. And with that he disappears out the door and a moment later, the sound of the shower pipes rattling the walls fills the room.

 **Alright lovelies, I will update as soon as this chapter gets four reviews! Let me know what you thought and as always feel free to leave any suggestions or ideas for consideration!**


	7. Chapter 7

**WARNING! M RATED CHAPTER**

 **This chapter gets M rated about a third of the way through so if that isn't your cup of tea, feel free to skim read.**

 **Also a million apologies for the late update, this week's been insane – I had several university assignments due, I worked more shifts than usual, I took out a loan and bought a new car, and I'm in the process of moving house, so I have not found five minutes to sit down and write, but thanks heaps for the reviews they do not go unnoticed!**

Chapter Seven

It takes Peeta four hours to complete the painting of Prim.

I watch him while he works, sprawled out across my living room floor with the blinds fully parted and the glass pane of the window hiked all the way up for the best natural light. At first I feel exposed – it's such a direct contrast to the locked away aura my house maintains during daylight hours – but after an hour or so I find the outdoor elements are comforting.

I bring Peeta tea, I change his water when it becomes too murky with mixed paint colours, I serve up the biscuits he made early with fresh cheese from the market. He tells me repeatedly that I don't have to hang around, that I can go hunt or trade or just laze about in my bedroom while he works, but I insist on it. There's a very grounding sense of familiarity and normality in watching him paint, in the way his forehead creases in concentration and you can almost see the rest of the world melting away from his reality.

It's mesmerising to watch his hands as well, and the way the take a few stray streaks of black, a few smudges of beige, so bleak dots of blue, and manipulates them until my sister slowly comes to life on the page. When he gets to the eyes, he spends a long time very carefully mixing the blue and white paint together. He swatches it several times on his wrist, studies it, frowns, and then adds more blue or more white and mixes harder or softer or slower or faster. When he's finally satisfied with the colour he's created, I know it's a perfect match for Prim's eyes, and feel an overwhelming rush of gratitude for my restored memory.

When the painting's complete, Peeta gives me a few minutes to drink it in. There's such an intense rush of emotions that come with seeing my sister again for a first time since the bombing in the Capitol. Of course there are plenty of photographs readily available – the shot of her walking towards the stage before I volunteered to take her place in the games became iconic, and after that she was arguably more beloved by the country than I was, and pictures of her were taken at every opportunity. But this is different. There has been no last minute adjusting of hair for the camera, no coaxed big smile, no strategic angle to make her look as angelic as possible. This is Prim, with her messy blonde hair, with her soft pink lips, with her youthful glow and heavy cheeks, with her almond blue eyes and rosy nose. This is Prim how she was, and how she will always be. Too young and too gentle.

''Do you… like it?'' I can tell by Peeta's tone my intense silence has gone on just a fraction too long, and now he's nervous. Unable to find words to tell him just how much I do like it, I blink back the tears in my eyes and lean in to kiss him.

''Thank you so much.'' I whisper.

''Of course. I'll paint others too. Anyone you want.''

My initial instinct is to find a pen and write him a list of everyone I want painted – Finnick, Rue, Cinna, Mags, Wiress, Boggs, and is it possible he remembers my father well enough to paint him as well? – but I stop myself. I know I can't realistically ask him to do so much all at once, and so I decide to keep his offer in my pocket, and wait until I desperately need to remember one of them. Not through a photograph, which captures not a moment in time but the distortion of one, but as they truly were, in the way only Peeta and his watercolours can capture.

I manage to convince Peeta to come back to bed with me, while we leave Prim's portrait to dry on the kitchen table. He protests that it's the early afternoon and we should be out doing something, but I can tell the thought of a pointless afternoon spent under the covers is appealing because he doesn't put up much of a fight. I don't admit it, but I'm chasing more of what went down between us this morning. In between moments when I was so consumed with his painting of Prim, my mind drifted back to the feeling of him pressed up against me this morning, the heat of our hips moving together, the feeling of his tongue cascading across my teeth, the moment I felt him _there._ It's lingered like an itch I'm not sure how to scratch, and I'm beginning to worry I'll never quite figure out what it is I want from him, and I'll be damned to enteral frustration.

Once we're in bed, I'm reminded of the chivalrous instincts that run deep in Peeta's blood as he loosely takes me in his arms, his hands respectfully on my stomach and shoulder, and doesn't try to make any kind of a move. It's impossible to know if he's thinking of the same things I am, because he won't action anything until I do. We spend thirty torturous minutes talking about nothing – how it hasn't rained since that night it stormed and I lost my mind, how the fan in the guest bedroom makes a strange sound, how the rebuilding of Twelve is going – until I can't take it anymore.

''Peeta.'' I sit up, and he raises his eyebrows in questioning. ''Can we kiss?''

''Can we… kiss?'' Peeta repeats, looking perplexed.

''I mean, not kiss, just… kiss like we were this morning.'' I'm blushing again, but I maintain eye contact, refusing to let myself cower.

''Oh.'' Is all Peeta says. He looks flustered but doesn't say anything else, and I instantly feel stupid.

''Or not. It doesn't matter.''

''No, Katniss, I want too. I just… the thing is, when things get heavy like that… remember the morning after the storm, when I explained how feelings are so much more intense than they used to be?''

I nod.

''I worry.'' He sighs. ''When he kiss like that, I want more. And the thing is…'' He looks away sheepishly. ''I've _always_ wanted more. I mean, what, uh, you know, the way my body, uh, reacted this morning…'' He's stuttering helplessly.

''It's okay, Peeta.'' I give him a lopsided smile. ''You don't have to be embarrassed about it.''

''It's not the first time it's happened, but I was just always careful to make sure you never got so close to _that_ part of me as to feel it. But all that before, getting aroused and wanting more, that was just typical teenage boy hormones and I could control myself. I'm scared that it won't be as easy now.''

''So just talk to me.'' I say, scooting closer to him on the bed. ''Let me know when things are getting too much, and we'll go from there.''

And that settles it. What starts as soft kissing progresses not-so-subtly, and pretty soon I've worked my way back on top of him and his tongue is pressing its way into my mouth. It's not long before I feel his erection on the inside of my thigh, and I can't help but chuckle against his mouth. Once he realises I've felt it, he begins to murmur an apology, which I swallow in kisses.

''Katniss.'' He grunts. He threads his fingers through my hair and tugs in a way that I interpret as wanting to come up from air. When I pull away, my heart sinks. His eyes are wide and startled, like a frightened kitten.

''Too much?'' I ask, disheartened.

''A little.'' Peeta admits. He squirms uncomfortably on the bed, and adjusts his shorts around his erection. ''I think… I think I might need a moment alone, if that's okay.''

''Oh.'' I swallow hard, trying not to look hurt. _You know better than anyone sometimes people need to be left alone, Katniss,_ I scold myself. _Don't take it personally._

''Oh no, no Katniss, not like that.'' He says, and I'm instantly reminded of how well he can read me. ''Not because you're bothering me I just…I just need to deal with… something, uh, privately.'' He's unable to look me in the eye, but I shift my head anyway, trying to catch his gaze, looking for some kind of hint. Whatever it is, he's clearly embarrassed about it, but can't he just be up front? I hate it when people are vague about things, because I feel idiotic when I can't figure out what they mean-

Oh.

All at once I suddenly realise what he's talking about, and he must realise too, because he's eyes sink even further.

''I know, I'm sorry.'' He still can't look at me. ''It's just so hard to keep myself under control and I'm so terrified of going to far and not being able to stop. I think the safest bet is just dealing with my urges when they come up and not taking any chances.''

And then my words are going faster than my thoughts and suddenly I'm blurting out ''I can do it for you.''

Peeta's eyes shoot open, and his mouth hangs limply.

''Katniss, it's fine, really, I have plenty of experience, I think I can handle it.'' He tries to make a joke, but I can see his still shell-shocked.

But something's clicked in me. I suggested it before I could even think it through, but all of a sudden, that itch has returned with a vengeance and it's pushing me towards him. Seeing all of Peeta, touching him in a way I never have before, is that the _more_ I've been trying to find?

''I want too.'' I push. ''Will you let me?''

Peeta opens his mouth three times to reply, but can't make words come out. Eventually, he settles for simply nodding. That's when I freeze up.

I have primal urges to touch Peeta, but realistically, I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. I know he sees that, because he gives me a reassuring smile.

''Only if your sure.'' He reminds me.

''I am.'' I nod. ''I just don't really know what I'm doing. Can you show me?''

He leans forward and gives me a soft kiss, loving and gentle, and in just that one kiss there is so much of my old Peeta.

''Tell me if you get uncomfortable and want to stop.'' He holds my gaze, and I know the fact that I understand this is important to him. ''Please. Promise me you'll say something.''

''I promise.''

Peeta takes a deep breathe in and undoes the laces on his shorts. I help him as he lifts his hips and wriggles them down to his ankles, then tosses them aside. He hooks his thumbs into his boxers and removes them as well, freeing his erection.

I've seen enough naked men on my mother's healing table to know that Peeta is not exactly small. Nonetheless, I know instantly from the shy look on his face that he's insecure, and I wonder how I would feel if the one person I've loved since I was five years old was looking at me completely naked.

I want to tell Peeta I think he's beautiful, that every part of him is beautiful, but I don't know how to, like I never know how to say anything I want to say. Instead I return his loving kiss from before, hoping to channel everything words fail to capture into it.

Peeta takes me hand and guides me towards his erection. As my hand clasps around it, he inhales sharply and closes his eyes. Almost as if in a trance, he begins to rhythmically move my hand up and down his length.

''Is this… okay?'' I ask after a few moments. His breathing has picked up and his eyes are still closed contently, but I don't have any real idea of if I'm doing this right.

''Yes.'' He huffs out. ''Can you…can you grip a little tighter?''

''I don't want to hurt you.'' I say nervously.

''You want.'' He scrunches his face up. ''Tighter, please.''

I tighten my grip around and he lets out a long groan of pleasure, which sparks something in my core. My insides are lighting up again, but this time it feels like less of an unsatisfied itch and more of a burning desire to stay in this moment forever.

''Katniss.'' He opens his eyes, and his gaze transfixes on me, full of lust and admiration, and my insides explode into fireworks. ''Can I see you?''

I know it shouldn't be such a gut-churning request, considering he's not only totally naked in front of me but I'm pleasuring him, but it is. My body is not something I share with anyone willingly. It is a distorted and burned and gruesome and the living proof of every time I screwed up, every time I failed, every time I lost the war. But the way Peeta's looking at me, like I'm the answer to every question he's ever asked, makes me feel like somehow those things don't matter as much as they should.

''Can I leave my underwear on?'' I ask, biting my lip nervously.

''Of course.''

I remove my hand from Peeta, and he involuntarily grunts at the loss of contact, but forgives it when he sees me reaching for my top. In a quick movement as so not to give myself time to hesitate, I yank my t-shirt over my head and wiggle out of my shorts.

Peeta's eyes go wide and doughy, as his gaze fixes directly on my breasts. I fight every fibre in my body that wants to through my arms around them, and bring my hand back to his erection. He moans and struggles to keep his eyes on me for as long as possible, before he's head lulls back and he has to close them.

''I'm close, Katniss.'' He exhales.

''What should I do?'' I begin to panic again. I understand basic biology and I know what's about to happen, but I have no idea what my role in the situation is supposed to be. I've heard whispers from girls at school about how you're supposed to swallow it, but that definitely isn't something I think I can handle just yet.

''Exactly what you're doing.'' He grins.

A few more moments pass as Peeta begins to squirm beneath me, his breathing become more intense, his moans gradually increasing in volume.

''Katniss.'' He breathes. ''Katniss, Katniss, oh god, Katniss!''

I mesmerised watching him as he finishes onto his stomach. I'd always pictured that being something kind of uncomfortable to watch, but watching him reach his peak, the height of pleasure on his face and knowing I cause that, is nothing short of thrilling, not to mention somehow really, really beautiful.

''Do you want me to get you a washcloth?'' I ask with a smile as Peeta struggles to catch his breath.

''Yes please.'' Is all he manages to get out.

I disappear into the attached bathroom, run a washcloth under warm water and return to the bed, where Peeta cautiously wipes himself down until he's clean. When he's finished, I toss it carelessly on the floor as a problem for later.

''Was it… okay?'' It's my turn to become insecure. Peeta looks at me like I'm crazy.

''Katniss, that was…''' He trails off, and I try to remember the last time Peeta Mellark was at loss for words. ''Can I confess something to you?''

''Sure.'' I tuck us both gently under the covers, and find it's a strange kind of intimacy. With the sheets pulled up, we can't see each other's bodies, but yet we still know there's no clothing between us besides my thin panties, and at any point we could be skin to skin. It's exhilarating.

''When I… uh, when I… you know… touched myself…'' He looks like a guilty puppy caught chewing shoes. ''I would sometimes imagine it was you doing it. But I could never have imagined that's what it would feel like.''

''I take it that's a good thing.'' I can't help the stupid smile that crosses my face.

''A very good thing.'' He grins as well.

There's a loud sound from the top of the stairs, like someone coming down on the landing with heavy footsteps. Peeta and I look at each other, startled like deer caught by hunters.

''What was that?'' Peeta whispers.

''Probably Buttercup?'' I say, knowing fully well it was most likely not.

''Katniss, you home?'' Haymitch crises out.

''Shit!'' I utter under my breathe, as the panic-stricken look increases across Peeta's face.

As Haymitch's footsteps approach the guest door, there's no time to do anything besides make sure the bed sheets completely hide us. How did we not hear him come in?

''You here, boy?'' Haymitch tries, and then he's turning the doorknob, and then the bottle of liquer he was nursing is smashing on my bedroom floor as he's greeted with the side of Peeta and I naked in bed.

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	8. Chapter 8

**Ahhh you guys are the sweetest! I'm loving your comments! So glad to know you guys are enjoying reading this as much as I am enjoying writing it.**

 **Chapter Eight**

Nobody says anything for several antagonising moments. We all kind of just stare at each other, dumbstruck and speechless, until finally my tongue regains function.

''Haymitch!'' I squeal, instinctively hugging the cover tighter around me. ''Have you never heard of knocking?''

''I hadn't seen either of you all day.'' Haymitch still appears to be too taken back to make any snide remarks. ''Thought I'd come looking for you.''

''Wow, nice of you too decide to do your job as my guardian for once.'' I snap back. I'm sure Haymitch knows my snideness is only from embarrassment, but I can't help it. ''Your timing's a little off, though.''

Haymitch's blank expression gradually morphs into a sarcastic smirk.

''I can see that.'' He says. He looks down at the mess of shattered glass and spilled alcohol on our bedroom floor, then gently nudges a shard with his foot. ''So, you want me to clean this up… or?''

''Haymitch, just get out!" Peeta startles me when he finally finds his voice. Haymitch's sneer widens.

''Alright, I'm going.'' He raises his hands defensively. ''I'll come back later.''

''And you'll knock!'' I yell after him as he turns to leave the room.

''Noted.'' He chuckles, his voice full of amusement as he shuts the door behind him.

I drop my head face down into my pillow and let out a long, sustained groan.

''Well, guess that killed the mood.'' Peeta tries to lighten things up, and I can't help but smile.

''I'll go talk to him.'' I roll my eyes and throw the covers back. ''I feel like not talking about it is going to be the only thing worse than talking about it.''

''I can go if you want.'' Peeta catches my shoulder.

''Nah, he'll want to talk to me.'' I shake him off. ''I'm the one who's screwed up here, in his eye. You're _broken,_ remember?''

That last part is supposed to be a joke, another mood-lighter, but Peeta's smile is tight and unconvincing. I narrow my eyes, asking him without words what's wrong.

''Is that really how you still think of me?'' He asks. ''Like I'm broken?''

''Yes.'' I admit. ''But we all are. I don't think any one of us came out of this in one piece, do you?''

Peeta gives a relieved smile, and accepts my kiss as a reassurance. Climbing out of bed, I feel the heat of his eyes on my instantly. Without the added element of him in my hand, of his moans of pleasure and the feeling of power that came with it, every flaw on my body feels amplified. I use one arm to cover my breasts and the other to sweep the scars on my stomach as I make my way around to his side of the bed and fetch my discarded clothes.

''Katniss.'' He whispers, stopping me before I can yank my t-shirt quickly over my head. ''Don't cover yourself, you're beautiful.''

''You have to say that, because I just jerked you off.'' I say, wriggling free of his grasp. The shocked look on his face is satisfying, confirming that despite what just happened, he still thinks of me as sweet and pure and not the kind of girl to say something so blunt.

''I'm not just saying that.'' He insists once he's recovered from the surprise. By this time I've already done up my shorts and am finger combing my hair, searching the room for an elastic band to braid it in. ''You know that.''

''You can care about me and think my scars are repulsive.'' The confident girl who felt absurdly proud of her scars has vanished into thin air, and now Peeta is simply getting on my nerves. Of course he doesn't actually think I'm beautiful – I'm a fire mutt, with disgusting pink flesh and grotesque wounds that will never properly heal.

''Do you think my prosthetic leg is repulsive?'' He shoots back.

''No.'' I say, quickly, defensively. ''Of course not. I… I was a little shocked the first time I saw you without it, and I saw what the stump looked like, but that's a part of you. I'm not repulsed by it at all.''

''You don't have to just say that.'' Peeta folds him arms across his chest.

''I'm not!" I feel myself becoming worked up again. ''Why would I lie to you?''

''Katniss, calm down.'' Peeta raises a hand to me. ''I believe you, I'm just proving a point. If you don't find my prosthetic leg ugly, why is it so hard to believe I think your beautiful even if you have scars? I have plenty too, does that change the way you feel about me?''

''No.'' I say softly, my eyes downcast. ''I'm working on it, okay?''

Peeta nods, accepting this.

''I get it, it's hard.'' He says. ''I still have trouble looking in the mirror too. But I don't think it's really about what the scars look like, is it?''

''What do you mean?'' I find myself perching on the end of the bed.

''Take this one, for example.'' He pulls down the sheet so that his abdominals are completely exposed, and guides my vision to a pink swipe from his chest to his left hip. ''That was done by one of my torturers in the Capitol. With a whip.''

I flinch involuntary, feeling the pain of Thread's whip cascading across my cheek all over again.

''For a long time, that was the scar I most wished would disappear.'' He says, and I try not to choke myself up when I see his eyes becoming misty. ''I thought it was the most hideous of all my scars, and I had the most trouble looking at it when I got dressed every morning. It took me a lot of time and a shit load of therapy to realise it wasn't actually about what it looked like. Getting whipped there is one of the very last clear memories I have of my time in the Capitol before the hijacking completely wiped my brain. I hate that scar because I associate it with losing everything. I associate it with losing my mind and losing myself and not just losing you, but becoming this monster that tried to hurt you-''

''Peeta, stop.'' I press a palm to his cheek and quickly wipe away the few tears that have escaped, begging my own to stay back. ''Don't go down this spiral. It's okay. You're here. You're safe.''

''What I'm trying to say is…'' Peeta steadies himself with a few deep breathes. ''Do you really hate your skin graphs and burn marks because they're ugly, or because you got them at the same time you lost your sister?''

''I don't know.'' I admit. Letting out a sigh, I say ''I'm going to go talk to Haymitch. Wait here for me to get back?''

''If you want me here?'' Peeta asks, uncertainly.

''Yes.'' I reply, leaning in for one more kiss. ''Stay with me.''

''Always.''

* * *

I have to knock four times before Haymitch opens his door, which I'm more than just a little convinced he does on purpose.

''I'm getting there!'' Haymitch wallows from upstairs after the fourth knock. He swings the door open with a grunt of discontent, then looks at me with a stupefied face. ''You know it was unlocked, right?''

''Yeah, well, I believe the polite thing to do in most situations is knock and wait before entering.'' I say pointedly. Haymitch snickers.

''Oh, _that's_ what we've come to talk about, is it?''

''It wouldn't be if I though I had a choice.'' I mutter, pushing past him and entering his pigsty of a living space. I collapse down on his battered, worn-in old couch and he takes a seat next to me.

''I know your pissed.'' I say.

''That you're making reckless decisions and completely ignoring my advice?'' Haymitch asks, picking at a half-eaten apple on his coffee table. ''Not really a new concept, sweetheart.''

''Just lecture me and get it over with.'' I lean back in his couch, trying not to think about how much I'd rather be back in bed with Peeta than over here talking about being in bed with Peeta.

''What you two do in the bedroom is none of my buisness.'' Haymitch says, a bemused grin on his face. ''And clearly anything I say about it is just going to be ignored, so I'll save my breathe. The only thing I will say is this – if you're really going down this path with him, you need to do it carefully. I can't control how you two feel about each other or how you choose to… express that…''

''Shut up.'' I utter, wishing I could sink into the couch and disappear.

''But all I can say is that neither one of you are totally with the program just yet. For once in all the time you two have been my problem, he's actually the bigger concern than you. Talk about mixing thing up, hey?''

''Haymitch, stop talking.''

''Mmmm, not yet.'' Haymitch snarks. ''Remember what we talked about the other day? About how he won't cope with being lead on-''

''I'm not leading him on.'' I groan. ''You were right, I do love him, I'm just still figuring out exactly how. I care about him, and obviously my feelings for him aren't plutonic, but I don't know if I can ever really love him like he wants to be loved.''

''Well, either work it out faster or keep it in your pants, because this won't end well otherwise.''

''I thought what we did in the bedroom was none of your buisness.'' I knock a piece of his apple off the table in spite.

''Fair call.'' Haymitch raises both hands in surrender. ''I just, I really don't want to see either of you get hurt. Emotionally, or physically, both of which are very much on the table here. You've been through more than enough already.''

My defence softens instantly. Haymitch doesn't know how to approach anything without being overbearing and infuriating, but that doesn't mean he doesn't really love Peeta and I, and isn't looking out for us.

''I know. Thank you. We'll be careful, I promise.''

''I'll say one more thing.''

''I think you've said enough.''

''Please do be careful.''

''Yes.'' I groan, rolling my eyes. ''I get it, be careful with him, don't lead him on, don't start anything we're not way too screwed up to handle-''

''No, Katniss.'' Haymitch is laughing now, and that smug glimmer is back in his eyes. He smirks at me. ''Be careful.''

''Oh.'' My face flushes and I sweep my braid around to shield it. ''I feel like as a mentor, that's out of your jurisdiction.''

''Me too, and yet here we are.''

Despite ourselves, we're both laughing now. Then Haymitch clears his throat roughly, and his face grows serious again.

''Katniss, you're the closest thing I'll ever have to a daughter.'' I don't allow myself to get emotional at his words, and instead compartmentalize them as something to deal with later. He must know how close to home that hits me, since he's the closest thing I have to a living father, but Haymitch and I aren't great at emotional conversations and now is clearly not the time for either of us to get into it. ''So don't think this is any less awkward for me than it is you. I'm going to say this once, and then we're going to forget about it. Do you need birth control? Because I can get it for you if you do.''

''No!'' I can't shake my head fast enough, desperate to erase the thought of Peeta and I having sex from his mind as quickly as possible. ''No, no, no.''

''Katniss-'' Haymitch beings, but I cut him off.

''Haymitch, that's not… we're not sleeping together.''

''Really?'' He pretends to look surprised. ''Because images I now have permanently implanted in my brain would disagree.''

''That was your fault, for starters.'' I point out. ''We weren't having sex. We were… you know what, it really isn't any of your buisness exactly what we were doing, but it wasn't that.''

''Okay, good to know.'' Haymitch nods humorously. ''Alright, do you know where to get it if you need it?''

''Not… really.'' I confess. ''My mother used to prescribe herbs to people to stop them getting pregnant, but she said nothing was a hundred percent guaranteed.''

''It isn't.'' Haymitch agrees. ''But there are pills that are much more effective than herbs are. They're readily available in the Capitol, but we're only just starting to get supplies of them throughout the districts. They're still pretty hard to get your hands on in Twelve, but I can get them if you want them.''

''Okay.'' I swallow hard, and try to defuse some of the flushing in my cheeks. ''Thanks. I'll let you know.''

I stand up and dust off the layer of grime that has settled on my shorts from just fifteen minutes of sitting on Haymitch's filthy couch.

''I should go.'' I say, heading for the door. ''Thanks, I guess.''

''Anytime, Mockingjay.'' Haymitch gives me a dismissive wave of his hand. ''Actually, on second thought, let's never have that conversation again.''

I roll my eyes and head out of the house, just as Haymitch calls over his shoulder ''Say hi to the boy for me!''

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	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

When I return home from Haymitch's, Peeta is back on my living room floor with his paints haphazardly litering the space. I close the door gently but firmly, ensuring Peeta hears me come in so that he isn't startled into making a mistake in whatever he's working on.

He looks up and smiles, and it oddly feels like there's something so much more intimate between us now that I've known him in a completely new way. In the way his overgrown fringe drops into his eyes, but curtains just enough to allow heart-stopping views of swimming blue eyes. Or maybe I just haven't paid enough attention recently.

''What are you working on?'' I ask, coming to sit beside him on the floor. So far all I can see are ovals in piercing green and sleek swipes of bronze, but I know the magic of Peeta's painting is that what looks like nothing but spilt paint now will soon be shatteringly beautiful.

''Finnick.'' He says, distractedly. ''I thought it might be nice to have some portraits of the others, too. Painting Prim was really good for me. It was the most relief I've gotten from all the chaos in my head since I came home.''

He looks up, and with a sheepish smile, adds ''well, second most.''

I chuckle and nudge him in the shoulder.

''How'd it go with Haymitch?'' He asks, dipping a clean brush into a shade of black and concentrating deeply on adding definition to the smudge of bronze, which I now realise is Finnick's hair.

''Do you think I need birth control?'' I blurt.

Peeta's head shoots up suddenly and he knocks the small pot of black paint over. I swipe the painting of Finnick away just in time to save it from it drowning in black.

''Sorry.'' Peeta scrambles for something to clean the mess up with. ''I'll just-''

''Leave it.'' I demand. ''Just answer the question.''

''So you and Haymitch had quite the conversation, then.''

''It was horrible and extremely awkward.'' I shrug. ''But he made some good points. If we're going to… you know… I can't afford to get pregnant right now.''

''Right now?'' Peeta raises an eyebrow. ''Is that something you think you'd ever want in the future?''

''No.'' I reply instantly. The best way to avoid hurting Peeta with fantasies of us raising kids together that never come true is to shut them down as quickly as possible. ''It isn't. I don't want kids now or ever, but especially not now.''

Peeta nods solemnly and looks at the spillage instead of looking at me.

''I… I don't know.'' He sighs. ''It's up to you, I guess.''

''What's up to me, exactly?'' I lean to the side slightly, trying to make him look at me.

''Whether or not we… you know.'' He repeats my choice of wording with a teasing look on his face. I shove him again. ''Seriously though Katniss, I'm not sure it's on the cards just yet, but if you think you should start taking it just to be safe then do it.''

''Just to be safe?'' Peeta must hear something accusing in my tone, because he snaps his head back to me.

''What? What did I say this time?'' He groans.

''Nothing.'' I harden my face, trying to avoid looking too offended. ''I just thought after what happened upstairs it probably was on the cards, but if you don't want too that's fine.''

''Alright.'' Peeta sounds annoyed as he stands up rather quickly.

''Where are you going?''

He doesn't answer me as he moves into the kitchen, where he runs a cloth under hot water from the tap. He returns to the living room floor and mops up the mess of paint, before tossing the cloth into the sink to be washed up later. When he comes back once again, he gestures for me to join him on the couch.

''I don't know how many more times I have to explain this to you.'' When he speaks again, he sounds worn-out. ''My feelings about physical relationships with you have nothing to do with whether or not I want too. You think I don't want to sleep with you? Like I haven't thought about sleeping with you since middle school? My problem has more to do with my lack of ability to control my own emotions, Katniss.''

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them again, they're shiny with tears, and his voice cracks as he speaks.

''It has much more to do with the fact that you might want to stop, and something might take over it me and I won't stop. And if that happened, if I forced you do something you didn't want to do, I would never, ever be able to forgive myself. Forget the people I killed in the Games, forget the people I couldn't protect in the war, that would be the one thing I could never live with. What if things get violent? What if they go way too far and I can't do anything about it?''

By this point, Peeta is shaking. He threads his fingers through his hair and holds his head as he squeeze his eyes shut and let's his body shutter. Nurturing instincts take over, from the nights when Prim would wake up screaming and I'd comfort her until she could sleep soundly again. I fumble to the floor and kneel in front of Peeta, rubbing his knee and talking softly too him until I've convinced him to stop pulling his hair and look at me.

''I'm sorry.'' I say, my own voice wobbling. ''I'm really sorry. I know, I know this has nothing to do with not wanting to be with me. I don't know how any of this works. I don't know what we are, I don't know if this is a relationship or not or how I'm supposed to act if it is. I'm not good at this. Like really not good at it. And I keep taking things personally when I shouldn't. And I'm sorry.''

Peeta takes deep breathes, until the tears stem and he can speak clearly again.

''Katniss.'' He swallows hard. ''I love you.''

My stomach knots, and I look at him helplessly, with no idea of what to say. He gives a sad smile.

''I don't expect you to say anything back.'' He says, standing up from the couch. ''I never do. You just need to know that. I'm going to go and have a shower.''

''Wait!'' I cry. Peeta stops at the bottom of the stairs. Today's been such an emotionally exhausting day, and typically all I'd want is to be alone. For some reason, it's the opposite right now. ''Can I come?''

Peeta pauses to think about it for the moment, and I make a mental promise that I won't be upset if he says no.

''Sure.'' He says finally, allowing himself a smile. He walks back over and helps me off the couch, and we make our way hand in hand up the stairs and into the bathroom.

Peeta undresses carefully, pulling his shirt off first, then stumbling clumsily out of his shorts and boxers, trying not to trip up on his prosthetic leg. It's only when he's completely naked and adjusting the shower's water temperature that I realise I should be taking my clothes off too.

I know despite all of my insistences that I'm well past my ''purity'' stage, Peeta knows nudity, especially my own, is still a sore spot for me, and so he pretends to be very focused on the shower taps as I begin to undress. I remove my shirt, my bra and my shorts, but hesitate over my underwear. Peeta looks up and can't help but smirk at my reluctance to be completely bare in front of him for the first time ever.

''I'll close my eyes if it helps.'' He teases.

''Oh, shut up.''

Despite all of our joking, Peeta actually does look away as I finally step out of my underwear and join him under the water. When he turns to face me, he keeps his gaze intentionally above my waist, running his fingers through my hair and wiping droplets of water from my cheek. We kiss a little, softly and innocently, keeping a noticeable distance between our bodies, before he pulls away and sighs.

''Katniss.'' He whispers, biting his lip. ''I really, really want to look at you.''

''Okay.'' I try to sound much more confident than I feel.

''Yeah?''

''Yeah.''

Peeta backs me against the shower wall, away from the water stream, and takes a small step back. His takes his time, letting his gaze linger over my breasts before dropping down to the spot in between my legs. I count the tiles on the back of the shower wall to avoid thinking about how badly I want to turn away. And then he's there, with his body all the way up against mine and our mouth pushed together and the time for innocent kisses is over.

''Katniss.'' His voice is breathy against my ear. ''I want to make you feel good. Like you made me feel earlier. Can I?''

At his words, the sparks are back. There's a twisting in my stomach, but it's different to what I'm used to. It's not fear of apprehension, it's not terror or disgust. I think it might be anticipation, but in a good way.

''Yes.'' It's all I know how to say, but I know Peeta can see in my eyes just how okay with it I am.

Peeta doesn't do anything for a few moments besides continue to kiss me, letting his tongue slip into my mouth and his hand slip between my thighs. He keeps it below my core, and I know he's giving me time to get used to the feeling of him being down there before he actually does anything.

''Have you ever… touched yourself?'' He manages to get out in between kisses. I know he must feel me go rigid immediately, because he stops and pulls back.

''You don't have to tell me.'' He rectifies quickly. ''It's just, it'll be easier to know what you like if you have.'' Then he grins, and adds ''not that I mind taking the time to figure it out.''

There were nights in the tribute centre before the first games, when I tried to distract myself from my impending doom by exploring myself in a way I'd never even dreamed of before, as some weak compensation for the fact that I was going to die a virgin. It had been clumsy and useless at first, but in the end I'd found certain special spots that sent waves of adrenaline through my body in a totally new way.

''Maybe.'' I mumble.

''Hey.'' Peeta cups my chin and lifts my gaze. ''You don't have to be embarrassed about it. You don't ever have to be embarrassed about your body with me, you understand that?''

I manage a nod.

''So…'' Peeta pauses to plant kisses down my neck, and I exhale heavily into his hair, watching my breathe carry it towards the steaming water. ''Show me.''

 **Thanks so much for all your support and reviews so far, they really make my day. Keep reviewing for updates! Xxxx**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hey guys! VERY sorry for the long break in between updates, life's been crazy busy and also got a little distracted with some other projects. But I'm back now so I hope you enjoy this update! Thanks for continuing to leave kind comments in my absence, I saw some of the new reviews last night and they made me get my butt into gear and write this chapter.**

 **Chapter Ten**

I've never spent a full hour in the shower before today.

Showers are practical. You step inside them, you clean filth from your body and you step out of them. There's never been any need to loiter once that's over and done with.

But then, I've never before taken a shower with another person. I've never stood against the shower wall, watching the water evaporate blonde hair into sleek brown strands that hang over a brow furrowed in concentration, as a hand continues to linger between my thighs, finding places I never knew existed on my own body.

My guidance of Peeta's hand, showing him what I had discovered myself in dark Capitol rooms, had lasted mere minutes before he'd gotten the hang of it, and before I'd realised not knowing what he was about to do was exhilarating.

We're in the middle of a pause, both of us gasping for steam-choked air and exhaling into each other, with our foreheads pressed together and his hand on the inside of my thigh, ready to start up again as soon as we regain composure, when the phone rings.

''Ignore it.'' I say without even stopping to think about it. ''It's just Dr. Aurelius.''

Peeta nods enthusiastically and leans in to kiss me again. As his hand begins creeping upwards again, my body tenses in anticipation and longing for the feeling of fire he's been igniting. And then suddenly, his hand stops, and he pulls away, looking concerned.

''What?''

''Maybe you should answer it.''

''Answer what?'' I say, planting kisses on his neck to try and lure him back in. I've already forgotten about the phone, already drowned out the sound of it ringing.

''The phone, Katniss.'' Peeta laughs, but shrugs away from my kisses. ''Maybe you should answer the phone.''

The ringing ceases at that moment. I raise my eyebrows smugly, as if to say ''now, what?''

''Okay, maybe you should call them back.''

''Dr. Aurelius doesn't care if I don't answer the phone.'' I whine, though of course I wouldn't know how he feels about this, because I never answer the phone.

''What if isn't Dr. Aurelius? Remember when I told you that I think your mum might be trying contact you again?''

''Peeta.'' I groan. ''Don't talk about my mother when we're in this position.''

Peeta can't help but laugh, but his face grows serious again shortly after.

''I mean it, Katniss. I think she's really making an effort. It's not fair of you just to ignore her.''

I find myself pouting, as realisation that our time in our own tiny sanctuary, where nothing existed except me and Peeta and the things he made me feel has come to an end and reality is requesting our presence again.

''If I ring the number back and it's Dr. Aurelius, I'll kill you.'' I threaten. Peeta smiles, and I'm sure it's because he knows I'm hoping like Hell it is Dr. Aurelius. An hour long monotoned lecture where the word ''closure'' is said way too many times would be so much easier to handle then talking to my mother again.

Peeta and I dry ourselves and redress, and I offer my hand to him, silently asking if he'll come with me downstairs. He accepts, and though he doesn't make a big deal of it, I can see in his eyes what it means that I'm asking him to be there with me. It's a big step for me, to make the choice not to do something alone when I don't have too, but it's something I'm trying to do more. I'll never work out how I really feel about Peeta if I don't let him in.

At the downstairs phone, I hit the redial button and tap my foot impatiently, as Peeta leans against the kitchen bench. I try to go over in my head what I'll say if it is in fact my mother that answers, but I'm coming up with nothing besides everything I've imagined saying too her on my worst nights, about how she abandoned me not once by twice, about how she put her own selfish coping mechanisms above looking after her daughter, about how she should never have become a mother if she wasn't willing to see her kids out even in the worst of times.

I'm in the middle of mentally rehearsing my excuse for ending the phone call when I can't pretend not to be seething with my mum when the rings give way to a click of the receiver, and then the voice comes.

''Katniss?''

I freeze. I wasn't prepared for this. My jaw goes slack and I look at Peeta, panic-stricken.

''How did you get my number?'' I say. ''Why are you calling me?''

''Hey, take it easy.'' Peeta says, placing a hand on my shoulder. I roughly shrug it off.

''It's not my mum.'' I hiss. ''It's Gale.''

Peeta's face contorts oddly. I can imagine the thoughts going through his own head, but he's trying to remain stoic.

''Who are you talking too?"' Gale remains oddly calm on the other end.

''None of your business.'' I snap. ''Answer my question.''

''I tried calling you the other morning.''

''I wasn't home.'' I lie, fumbling to grab Peeta's hand. I pull him in towards me and run my hands under his shirt, playing on the muscles of his stomach. I have this strange urge to emphasis to Gale how well I'm healing without him, and touching Peeta while on the phone to him feels like it should be a blow, even though he has no idea Peeta's even in the room.

''You weren't home at six in the morning?''

''None of your business.'' I repeat, even though it's not really a logical response, and is more childish than anything. I survived two arenas, was pushed into leading a rebellion I didn't want to be a part of at the risk of Peeta's life, only to have it end in bombs from my own team that killed my sister. I've earned my right to be childish. ''What do you want?''

Gale sighs, but it's not a heavy sigh. More of a sigh like he knew this was how the call was going to go down, and is just willing himself to get through it.

''We're coming to District Twelve next week. I wanted to give you the heads up.''

The lunch Peeta and I ate on my living room floor earlier lurches in my stomach and threatens to turn to vomit, which I keep at bay but trailing my hands further up Peeta's shirt.

''Oh yeah?'' I try to sound unaffected. ''Who's 'we'?''

''Oh, you weren't told?'' Gale sounds genuinely surprised.

''I was told you had some big fancy job in Two.'' I say. ''Nobody told me what it was though. I didn't ask either.''

''Well, I'm the mayor's assistant, now.''

''Sounds like the exact kind of merchant position you used to rant about in the woods.'' I can't help it. Peeta shoots me a look as if too warn me off pushing the boundaries, but he forgets about it when I plant a series of kisses along the inside of his collarbone. If Gale can hear the sound of my lips smacking against Peeta's skin, he doesn't comment. He ignores my remark about his hypocrisy, too.

''We've been going around the districts, seeing what we can do to assist with the rebuilding. We're in Eleven at the moment. Things are coming along really well here.''

''Good to know. Is that all?''

There's another sigh.

''We're hoping to see you.'' He says. ''The mayor thinks it will be good for raising motivation and spirits to see the Mockingjay so onboard with the country's rebuilding.''

''My days of doing things because other people think it will look good are long gone, Gale. I think I made that pretty clear when I put an arrow throw Coin's heart.''

''That's true.'' Gale agrees. ''Alright, let me rephrase that. I'm hoping to see you. Not just as a part of the project. I think we need to talk about what happened.''

''What happened when?'' I find myself scowling, and no longer able to concentrate on Peeta. I pull away, and Peeta lovingly tucks some stray hair behind my ear.

''You know when.''

''There's nothing to talk about.'' I reach for the END CALL button on the phone, but Peeta beats me too it and covers it with his hand. I roll my eyes.

''There's plenty to talk about. Please, Katniss, I can't live the rest of my goddam life having never got the chance to tell you my side of the story.''

''Well Prim will never get too tell anyone her side of the story, so I guess your both out of luck.''

Peeta doesn't intervene when I got to hang up a second time. I slam the receiver down, huffing and out of breath, like I've just run a mile.

''Hey.'' He says softly. ''You wanna talk about it?''

I don't. I want nothing less than to talk about it. I spin on my heels and lunge myself towards Peeta, connecting our mouths instantly. In a swift movement, I pull his shirt over his head, and my hand snakes between us to massage him through his sweatpants. I feel him growing against my palm and a moan hits the back of my throat, before he pushes me off.

''Katniss, stop.''

''No, it's okay.'' I say, and make a move to close the gap between us again. ''I know you don't want to push me but it's fine.''

''It's not.'' Peeta puts two hands on my shoulders to keep my back. ''I won't do this. Not like this.''

''Like what?''

''Like you using me as some kind of petty revenge because you're mad at Gale.''

His words hit me like a punch to the throat.

''I'm not.'' I say.

''Yes you are.'' Peeta smiles ever so slightly. ''Don't worry. I'm not offended. I know what you're like and how you're head works. You might not even realise this is what you're doing, and the old me would have taken you throwing yourself at me even if I knew you had ulterior motives. And I did, actually, on more than one occasion. But I can't do that anymore. And it's about me, not about you. It's about keeping my emotions in check and being able to keep a leash on my impulses. I can't allow myself too much of you until I know it's real, that you're not just going to take it away again. Otherwise I'll get too emotional about it, and there's no telling what I'll do to you.''

Peeta Mellark is the only person that can call me out my manipulative behaviour and still end up making himself the bad guy.

''Come here.'' He says, opening his arms, and I fall into them, gracefully and softly, basking in the comfort of simply being held. He plants a gentle kiss on the top of my head, and I feel myself settling down.

''I'm sorry.'' I whimper.

''Don't be.'' Peeta says easily. ''I fell in love with you Katniss, exactly the way you are. You don't have to apologise for being that person.''

That night we sleep in my bed, side by side, fully clothed but fingers intertwined, always keeping each other within reach.

 **Will try super hard to update again in the next day or two, but REVIEWS ENCOURAGE ME TO UPDATE FASTER! Seriously I have so much more motivation to write when I'm receiving feedback on my work so please share your thoughts!**


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